It All Depends
by Akane TendoSaotome
Summary: What you see always depends on who you are. A continuation fic of sorts.
1. In Which Nothing Actually Happens

Disclaimer: Naturally, I own nothing. I make no money off this (or anything else, honestly) and I don't really want to go through any legal processes because of it.

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It had taken an enchanted talking cello, another planet-threatening ugly green immortal menace, some breed of 'scarf fairies,' and liberal help from the Sailor Suited Soldiers of Love and Justice, but Ranma had survived. He had not failed math. In fact – well, perhaps we should start at the beginning.

The fiasco had ostensibly begun when Ranma had been reconciled with his mother for what he was, and at the same time, passed that fatal test of being the world's biggest macho jerk. He had also – eventually – convinced her that it was safer for all involved if he continued to live at the Tendo Dojo after the Saotome house was rebuilt. The trouble began when the Tendo sisters made a very subtle attempt to find out what Mrs. Saotome considered 'manly' (subtle for anyone in this town, anyway. Let us not go into the specifics). After all, she had already demonstrated some odd preconceptions on the matter before; the woman watched her own son molest his future wife and was ecstatic to the point of throwing a party. This is not to even mention the peeping and the bra-raiding. At any rate, the Tendo sisters discovered that her complete list of 'requirements for manhood' involved things like a general interest in women's bodies (instead of their clothes), a developed interest for 'active play,' as she called it, a commanding presence at all times, and perfect marks in school. No one had any idea where that last one came from. But regardless, it was now a matter of life and death, and Ranma had spent the last weeks leading up to exams cramming like they had challenged him to a fight. He trained with everyone and anyone who knew math, history, science, geography, grammar – anything. He studied at his mother's house on weekends, mostly due to the fact that it was now a 'fiancée/rival-free zone' on pain of death/dismemberment/castration. He ignored obvious attempts to bait him into meaningless fights, he brushed off fiancées new and old, and he even wisely ignored the panda signs that tried to give advice. Kasumi, of course, helped him with home economics and biology. Akane tutored him in math and physics, two of his worst subjects (just trying to explain Newton's law was nightmarish – he'd blatantly violate them right in front of her face to contradict her). Nabiki was so impressed with his new behavior that she rewarded him with free instruction in economics and business. Well, he was cleaning her room during the lesson, so it wasn't totally without recompense.

The day test scores were returned, Akane was only a little miffed that he scored first in the class out of the entire school. After all, Ranma had put in monumental effort, and to tell the truth (which no one heard from her mouth, certainly), Akane was proud of him. Also, she was glad he was not dead. But you'd really have to twist her arm to get her to say it. As in, literally. Seriously.

To say that the rest of the general populace of Nerima prefecture was amazed at his performance was something of a titanic understatement. As for Mrs. Saotome, well, she pretty much gloated wherever she went about her fabulous, healthy, and brilliant son.

Akane was happy for him, and that is where our story catches up with itself. No really. She was! But did he have to continue to spend _every_ weekend at his mother's house now? Did she _have_ to live in Juuban prefecture? Akane tapped her foot impatiently on the veranda some more as she waited for Ranma to return home. It was getting late – she shouldn't have postponed going shopping for that idiot. He wouldn't know how to be on time if someone stapled an alarm clock to his forehead!

The real question of the matter was whether or not he had picked up _another_ hussy somewhere in Juuban. Akane suspected (and she did _not_ think it was too far-fetched) that he did not spend all that time in Juuban with his mother, who, after all, had _not_ lost the habit of carrying around the razor-sharp blade of honor. Ranma also had the sad tradition of picking up girls that were really too brainless to realize that he was not much more than a worthless jerk. She didn't generally bother to correct the hopeless nitwits. And she couldn't really blame them, either – Ranma was a good-looking martial artist, tall and dashing – complete with devastatingly handsome cheeky smile. Akane was stubborn, not blind. Ranma was a looker, but she dared not tell him – if his head got any bigger, he'd never make it through the school gates. As his somewhat reluctant, yet official, fiancée, Akane took it upon herself to let some of the air out of Ranma's towering self-image once in a while, to give the citizens of the world a breather from living in the cocky young lad's own personal ego-trip.

She put her hand to her forehead at the thought of one of the infamous Sailor Scouts falling in love with the stupid boy. They were definitely his type: young, pretty, magical… air-headed. If even one of them knew how to cook, that'd probably be the last she'd see of the jerk. She had definitely noticed one or two of them at least giving him those looks that every girl on the planet seemed to have for Ranma, a long speculative glance that spoke volumes about their future plans. Even Sayuri and Yuka, Akane noticed, couldn't help but give the 'wild horse' that speculative look, when they thought she wasn't watching. Akane had expected better of them, since she frequently ended up lecturing them on Ranma's many faults, and why he would make a lousy boyfriend, let alone a disastrous life-partner. They didn't seem to care, but Akane could still hope that they were merely eying him and not really considering some kind of fantasy romance with him. The experience of others served to elucidate the realities to most of the girls after Ranma; last week's new contestant in the Great Ranma Race had attempted to first dispose of the competition, ensuing in a painful education for the potential bride. Shampoo and Ukyo had both disdainfully put her on her behind and sent her out of her respective restaurant with a wave and a complimentary boot to the butt. Nerima lost more girls that way, and its population was definitely beginning to lean toward the elderly and the male. The (Akane sighed here) perverted, teenaged, often super-powered male.

It began to rain, and Akane sighed again and went back inside to put a kettle on the stove. It baffled her how these girls kept falling for that fool. He didn't even have enough sense to carry around an umbrella!

Maybe this time with his mother would help improve his dismally under-used social skills. Then, as the possibilities unfolded in Akane's mind, he would ask one of these floozies out on a date, they'd eventually see how horrible he behaves toward females in general, and they'd get over him in a hurry. There were, after all, lots of good-looking boys out there, and who really needs or wants a martial artist for a husband? To quote an irate ChiChi from Dragonball Z, "Life is not just interludes between kung fu battles!" They really were better candidates for romance out there than the stock found in the Nerima prefecture, and Akane wished she could get that point across to the beguiled girls who trailed after her fiancé(e).

However, she had absolutely vowed to never get involved in other people's relationships. Heaven knew how much meddlers in _hers_ drove her up the wall. She stuck to that promise as much as she possibly could, only occasionally making a subtle attempt to nudge people closer together. Kasumi and Dr. Tofu were just perfect for each other! And Ryoga and Ukyo did make quite the cute couple.

Ranma dragged herself in the doorway with a tired greeting, and Akane brought the kettle out to the currently female boy. Ranma was shedding his outside shoes in the front entryway, dripping water all over. Akane wordlessly handed him the kettle and a towel before noticing that he gripped his side with his hand and a pained grimace contorted the pretty features of his feminine face. With a shock, Akane saw a trail of blood following him into the house.

"Have you been injured since you left Juuban?" She gasped in incredulous horror. Only Ranma would have walked all the way home from another district, bleeding the whole while. She firmly dragged the sodden girl-form inside to the main room before he had even a chance to use the hot water. The medicine kit was stocked and ready, sitting within easy reach of the table, and Akane snatched it up and pulled out bandages and antiseptic with practiced ease. He had been coming home more and more often lately with increasingly grievous wounds, even before he had begun disappearing to Juuban. Akane could not say that his skill in the Art was slipping – he'd never stand for that, but she did not know what else she could pinpoint as the cause. Carelessness, perhaps? But Ranma was never careless when it came to battle. She had seen him take out monsters and masters without garnering so much as a scratch. Had he started to become reckless? Overconfident? She frowned in worry as she forcibly sat him down near the kit and began unbuttoning his shirt with cool professionalism.

Perhaps Ryouga had returned once more with a new and deadly technique. Sometimes the rivalry between them seemed like friendly competition, but sometimes, it seemed that one or the other was out for blood, and it frightened Akane as much as it confused her. Ranma never wanted to lose to Ryouga, and went to ridiculous lengths to defeat the unfortunate boy on many occasions. Often, they would both be heavily injured after intense battle, but they rarely ever spoke of their reasons for fighting. Sometimes it seemed that there was more than just a simple grudge at stake in their matches, but neither one would admit to anything. Even more baffling was that every now and then, Ryouga offered to look for a cure for Ranma in a completely selfless gesture, or Ranma would volunteer to lead Ryouga to his or Akari's home, and they would behave as if they were never anything but friends.

Akane pushed away the torn red silk shirt, and Ranma's hand fell limply away from the wound. His eyes seemed a bit unfocused, and he hadn't yet said a word, which worried Akane to no end. She patted his cheek a bit to rouse him slightly from his stupor.

The wound looked deep, but clean. At first glance, it seemed to be a sword cut, or some other sharp, straight edge. With folk like Ukyou lurking about with razor-sharp kitchen implements, it really could have been anything. Akane quickly cleaned it, bringing a sharp hiss of pain from Ranma, and began to dress it carefully. She could be a klutz, so she had learned to concentrate very hard while wrapping the wound, so the bandage applied the correct pressure – a trick she had learned from Dr. Tofu, who was of the opinion that it was essential that someone, at least, could care for Ranma immediately after his daily battles without aggravating his wounds. He had, in his patient and caring voice, explained to her the rudiments of first aid and provided her with this extensive kit. All this had been fortunate, for it was around that time that Ranma started cropping up with an injury a day, and they really couldn't consume so much of the good doctor's time. He was, in truth, more of a moxibustion expert than an ER physician, and with her new training, Akane could handle most of the damages without professional help. Ranma was a quick healer, after all, and he could bounce back from most things with some rest, provided that he was bandaged up properly.

This wound appeared to be more serious than usual, but not immediately requiring Dr. Tofu's services or a trip to the ER. Ranma looked pale, however, even for the fair complexion of his alternate form. After she had finished the careful wrapping of the bandages that would keep Ranma in one piece for now, she packed away the medical kit, and eyed him seriously.

"Ranma, have you been fighting the demons that show up in Juuban? You know you should leave that to the Sailor Scouts. They've got magical weapons and the expertise that you don't have." She helped him to a sitting position.

He shrugged half-heartedly, still not quite as life-like as Akane was used to seeing. He looked down at his curvaceous female form.

"What about… all that talk about… feminine modesty?" he breathed slowly, one eyebrow upraised.

"Please. I'm a girl. You currently don't have anything that I don't." Though, she added silently, I wouldn't mind having some of what you have! It's not fair! He's not even a girl half the time, and he has a bigger bust! Akane sighed enviously. "Feminine modesty is not flaunting what you have in front of pervert boys," she said sternly. "In your case, that means: 'Don't Look'!" She tossed the towel over Ranma's exposed chest. He snorted, but did not spend the energy framing a barbed reply, and that worried Akane most of all. She went back to repacking her kit, and had just shoved it back into the corner when she heard a ripping sound behind her.

Ranma was once again himself, and looking down stupidly at the ripped bandages strewn all over his lap and the floor around him. Akane heaved a much-harassed sigh and pulled the kit back toward her and dug out fresh bandages. Ranma gave her a sheepish grin and managed to look at least slightly abashed.

He continued with his silence as she bandaged him up a second time, noting as she did so that she'd need to obtain more bandages soon. At the rate he was burning through them, she'd be out before next week. She thought to herself that she ought to make Ranma go fetch them, since it was him, after all, that kept using them up needlessly.

"Ranma," she scolded him as she finished up her second wrap. "You need to stop risking your life at every chance you get. Even if you do survive to see your eighteenth birthday, you won't enjoy it much if you're totally broken. One of these days, you'll die, or get some kind of life-altering maiming, and then what will we do with you?" She poked gently at the wound to emphasize her point, trying not to sound overly concerned. She kept her voice in her 'lecturing' mode.

"Would you be sorry?"

She looked at him sharply. "What?"

"I said, you'd be sorry all right, since I wouldn't be around to save your butt all the time." He put on the familiar macho grin, though it lacked a bit of substance through the blood loss.

She rolled her eyes and jabbed him again in the side, a bit harder. The smirk became a grimace, and she re-packed the kit once more. As she turned back to him, she noticed his hands held protectively not over his side, but over his hip. Akane frowned as she recalled last week's fight with – who was it? Mephistis, Demon Lord of Math Tutors? Or was it Delphis, Overlord of Deviled Eggs? Oh, whoever.

"Is that injury still bothering you –" She was brutally interrupted by the standard fanfare of both fathers, carousing and toasting to the joining of the schools. Akane had heard it so many times now, it was close to making her physically ill. Using Genma's trick of speed-writing, she scribbled Ranma a note on a ripped bandage and shoved him up the stairs before confronting the two inebriated older men with a scowl and a threatening mallet.

_I'll take care of these fools, you get to bed. I'll come check on your injuries later tonight, _the note in his hand read. Ranma stumbled blearily to his room.

With practiced ease, she denied everything the fathers might have been babbling about, booted them both into the pond (somewhat gently, out of a dim but lingering respect for the foolish pair), and retreated to the safety of her room. It had been decimated once again by Kodachi, apparently, since black rose petals were everywhere. She must have been looking for something, and Akane hoped that lunatic didn't find it. With the mess in her room, who was to know. Well, better check on Ranma, in case that loony drugged him up and kidnapped him again. He didn't seem like he was in any shape to handle the laughter of the Black Rose.

He was face down in his futon, out cold, but so was Kodachi, about five steps away, lying in a heap of gymnastic instruments and rose petals near the window. There had been an apparent struggle over the bouquet of black roses, and a fine film of dust was settling over the entire area. Akane carefully held her breath, scooped up Kodachi in her own ribbon, and sent her whirling out the window in the general direction of her own home. Though it was most of the way across town, Akane had gotten very good with her aim, and could be reasonably sure she had landed Kodachi in her own garden. Or maybe Mr. Green Turtle's pond. She had an uncanny knack for hitting bodies of water. Not only did it soften the landing, it also transformed most of the martial artists around here into smaller forms, so it was actually an advantageous quirk.

She turned around and contemplated booting Ranma out of the room also, but the fresh bandages peeking out from under his tank top made her think twice about furthering his injuries. She rolled him out of the room and dusted the powder away from him.

Peeling back an eyelid, she figured he'd be out for probably another twenty minutes. She heaved an exasperated sigh at the prone body in the middle of the hall before grabbing one arm and dragging him toward her room. At least she had carpet.

He was a lot heavier than he appeared, but she was a lot stronger than she seemed, also. She tossed him negligently into her room after clearing a space in the rose petal mess and fetched a warm, damp cloth to wipe down his face, to make sure no love-dust, dream powders, or magic separators would further invade his system. After finishing with that, she figured she'd go ahead with that inspection of last week's injury before going back downstairs and getting him a late night snack.

It must have been about two weeks ago or so (during a match against the Anything Goes Master of Sleep Fighting) when she finally solved the mystery of how to effectively wake Ranma in the mornings. Food. It was enough to simply say, cheerfully, "Time to eat, Ranma!" or "Come and get it!" and his eyes would snap open instantly. If there wasn't a feast immediately on hand, however, his mood was ruined for practically the entire day.

Well, it surely worked better than saying "Ranma, time for school!"

Akane mused about that as she pulled his tank top over his head and let it fall. He seemed to be able to subconsciously assess what you were saying, and decide whether or not he would awaken. It was Akane's job to wake him every morning, rain or shine, school or weekend, so she had a lot of experience with his reactions. She first developed her theory after noticing that Ranma woke quickly on weekends, and had to be dragged out of his blankets on schooldays. Since reaching her conclusions, she had found it most expedient to simply bring a plate of food up to his room, call him for breakfast, and then walk backwards out of the room until he was at the table, eating.

She sighed at his antics and probed at his waist, where there was still a semi-fresh scar from last week's pitched melee running down to his hip. She gingerly pulled his boxers aside to preserve decency while making sure the stitches were holding.

"I dun wan … roses…" he murmured restlessly, turning his head to one side. Akane patted his cheek sympathetically and was flipped onto her back for her trouble. Meddlesome Sleep Fighting Master! Had to make Ranma a better fighter _in his sleep_ than half the occupants of this town!

One hand pinned to the floor, the other caught underneath his hip where she had been touching the stitches, Akane forced herself to remain calm and unmoving. She had been there for the entire Sleep Fighting ordeal, and she recalled that Ranma's sleep-fighting instincts worked on movement. As long as she kept perfectly still and her aura quiet, she was in no danger. She opened her mouth and spat out a black pigtail to initiate the Anything Goes Sleep Fighting Final Attack: Wake Up Call, when someone knocked on her door.

She hadn't really closed it all the way, so the force of knocking swung it open.

Akane's luck wouldn't have it any other way. Nodoka, the quiet, beautiful, stately mother that Akane never had the chance to know, stood on the other side of the door as the hallway light spilled onto the highly compromising scene in the bedroom.

Akane's face went fire-truck red, but she forced herself to keep calm.

"Auntie Nodoka, I can, um… explain," she began falteringly, as she attempted to subtly move her right leg up into a position where she could push off the ground and shove Ranma away from her with her hips.

Nodoka watched calmly, expressionless, as her recently-returned son used his free hand to grab Akane's knee and push it back to the ground. Akane realized two very important things about this move. Her fighting instincts told her that his mastery of the (admittedly stupid) art of sleep fighting was truly a thorough one, as he had her pinned down, left leg underneath his, and right down and away from her body where she could get no leverage.

The second realization was that her position had increased from 'compromising' to 'pornographic' in nature.

Nodoka blinked at the utter disaster of Akane's room; the curtains had fallen from the windows, the door was somewhat broken, the shelves had their contents spilled about the floor, the drawers had been removed and over turned. The bed had been mutilated almost beyond recognition and sheets were everywhere over the floor, along with black rose petals, and ribbon. She raised only one eyebrow at her mostly naked son, face down in Akane's neck, holding one of her wrists and her opposing knee out away from her and completely covering her upper body and lying between her legs. She smiled indulgently at Akane's flushed face and slight struggling movements. The stately lady only had a twinkle in her eye to indicate that she clearly saw Akane's hand down her son's boxers. Akane's mouth worked helplessly, opening and closing in a dozen different attempts to explain, to deny, or to even ask for help.

Ranma chose that moment to groan loudly and begin to stir.

"Perhaps later," Nodoka murmured simply. With a devilish little smile, she closed the door gently.

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A/N: Don't review. Don't you do it. Don't click on that button. Don't even think about it. 


	2. Akane again

DISCLAIMED: By me.

BECAUSE: I made up approximately zero characters in the following series of letters and punctuation. Oh wait, I made up one. But whatever.

REMEMBER: Somebody out there actually has copy rights and that person is not me.

THANK YOU: For reading and not suing.

* * *

Mechanically, Akane extricated herself from her position – of course, much easier now that there was no one here to witness her embarrassment. She went about the now-familiar process of clearing out her room and was finished and re-calmed within the next ten minutes. After a trip to the bathroom to get ready for bed, she had convinced herself that it was all for the best that Mrs. Saotome continued to think Ranma was 'manly,' or, at least, _interested_ in her for more than wearing her clothes – still a delicate family issue. If Mrs. Saotome was here for the night, Ranma would have to sleep in her room, anyway. 

Akane sighed as she closed and locked the door behind her. If Mrs. Saotome even saw Ranma sleeping on her floor instead of in her bed, she would start to fearfully draw her katana.

It's not that Mrs. Saotome was a homophobe, oh no. She was a sweet woman who smiled indulgently at everyone's lifestyle. Even though she thought Ryoga was after her son in that way, she still treated him kindly. Even Happosai and his obvious thievery and lechery were given that same smile. But _her_ son, her only living heir, would have children or (literally) die trying.

Akane grimaced at the terrible mental imagery and carefully closed her curtains. The things she did (or pretended to do, anyway) to keep the boy alive. Well, it's not as if he hasn't returned the favor, right? Having Mrs. Saotome believe a few things about Ranma and her wasn't the end of the world, right? Maybe someday, it would even be true. What! No way, no way. No sir, not a chance. What are we even thinking, here.

Akane threw a coverlet over the still-unconscious offender and purposefully got into her bed. Out of sight, out of mind. And she maintained that fiction all the way to sleep.

The next morning found them on their way to school, as usual. Late. As usual. Arguing. As usual.

But Akane could tell that Ranma was distracted by something, if only because his insults didn't run smoothly together. When he was on form, they had rhythm, rhyme, and aggravating accuracy. She supposed he wanted to talk about yesterday's 'incident,' but Akane definitely did not want to be a part of that discussion. It would probably involve a lot of awkwardness, insults, and would more than likely end in violence. Akane would honestly like to give Ranma the benefit of the doubt, but his track record was against him, to say the _least_.

"All right," she interrupted his somewhat half-hearted slew of insults on her figure with a resigned tone. "If you want to say something about yesterday, we might as well get it over with." She pulled a spare mallet out of her school bag and hefted it a few times, even giving it a test swing or two.

One might wonder where she gets all of these mallets. The real answer is known to only a few. The populace of Nerima didn't have emergency phone booths from which the police could be summoned. It didn't have 'break in case of emergency' axes, or even the regular amount of fire alarms. No, the prefecture of Nerima had mallets. They were hung at discreet intervals all around the city, and were available about every three feet inside the Tendo complex and the local high school. This program, developed by a quick-thinking individual (likely, the very last one within a fifty mile radius of the Nerima Nuthouse) prevented the locals from ripping up the telephone poles, fences, fire hydrants, and concrete sidewalks to use as weapons of mass smash. It actually worked (likely the last plan to work properly within a fifty mile radius for the last two years). The telephone poles, fences, fire hydrants, and concrete sidewalks were merely casualties of the ki-blasts, falling bodies, and tornados that occurred. The new program being implemented is to have hot and cold water stationed at regular intervals throughout the city. We'll keep you updated on our progress, and how much property damage we've managed to contain with the new program.

The same committee that came up with these programs is also looking into how to get Ranma's big mouth to stay shut, which would save an estimated forty homes, three schools, nine bath-houses, and eighty empty lots a month from utter destruction. They've tried bricks, cementing, stone mortar, and industrial staples. So far, no luck, but our official stance is that we still retain optimism about our prospects for the future. Again, we'll keep you updated on all possible ideas under investigation. Which brings us back to the destruction at hand. Ranma turned from his position on the fence, looked right at Akane and opened his mouth, to 'discuss' the incident of the night before. Here, the term 'discuss' can be construed as you like it. But if you imagination involved a mallet and an air-borne teenager, you'd be pretty close to the mark, wouldn't you.

Fortunately for all involved (and nearby) he was interrupted by a blinding column of light zipping out of the sky and knocking him backwards off the fence and into the canal.

You might also wonder if Akane was surprised. Frankly, the answer is no. She is not. She takes these things in stride. You have to, in order to retain your sanity in a town like this. The neighbors, out washing their walks, also didn't bother to bat an eye at the heavenly chorus radiating down from above with the beam of light. Weird things happen. You build up a mental buffer to it all, really. On the other hand, Ranma always acts surprised when these things occur, but when one really stops to think about it, he does take a lot of hits to the head.

The figure floating gently down to earth inside that column of light was infinitely beautiful and had a twelve-foot wingspan. She had white hair, silver eyes, and was wearing half-moon glasses and white robes. Her halo was also slightly askew. She touched down on the pavement, and the light and soft music surrounding her instantly vanished.

"Before you say anything stupid, Ranma," she said quickly in an exasperated tone of voice, holding up one hand in Ranma's face as he climbed out of the canal in girl-form, "I'm not here to challenge you, I'm not interested in Akane – at least not directly – and I'm not here to marry you." Ranma thought about all this for a second, and then snapped his mouth closed and scowled.

"And yes," she added tiredly. "I can, in fact, read your mind." She turned slightly to address the both of them, her wings folding elegantly to rest on her back. "I am Ranma's Guardian Angel, Shiwazaru. I need to speak with you both."

"Well, that's great. But we're late for school, so –" Ranma started to walk past, but Akane whapped him on the back of the head with a conveniently placed paper fan.

"Ranma! Don't be so rude to your guardian angel!" she reprimanded. "She keeps bad things from happening to you!"

Ranma sniffed disdainfully, but said nothing and crossed his arms.

"Thank you, Akane," Shiwazaru said with a light inclination of her head. "And that is what I do. But I came to tell you that I can't do it anymore. It's just too much work."

"You're quitting?" Ranma cried, somewhere between shocked and offended.

"No – well, that's still to be seen," Shiwazaru explained. "I just need a break. Before I have a breakdown," she added in a clearly audible undertone. This means that, as usual, Ranma completely missed it.

"Are you going to be all right?" Akane asked, concerned.

"I will be, thank you for asking, Akane." Shiwazaru straightened her shoulders bravely and shook the harassed look off of her face with some effort. "I just wanted to tell you I'll be gone – I don't know for how long – and they haven't found an official substitute for you, yet."

"Heaven short on man-power? Er, angel-power?" Ranma joked.

"No, not at all," Shiwazaru replied. "You see… well, the thing is that…" She let out an explosive breath. "All right. No one wants to be your angel. There, I said it." She tossed her hands into the air with the last statement, the harried look reappearing on her face.

Ranma made an offended noise.

"That only makes sense," Akane mused out loud. "It must be pretty hard to deal with all of Ranma's trouble-making." She giggled and nudged Ranma in the side.

Ranma scowled at his fiancée and then at the winged girl.

"So, what," he snapped irritably. "All hell's gonna break loose with you gone, huhn?"

"Well, _probably_," Shiwazaru hedged. "I've been training an assistant – I will have him stay with you to ward off some of the bigger dangers. And hopefully, the Office will find someone willing to take on your case soon. Between the two (or more) of them, things shouldn't be too bad. You might not even miss me."

"Um, Shiwazaru," Akane said hesitantly, "what exactly did you protect Ranma _from_?" After all, if the last year or so was life _with_ Shiwazaru, what kind of craziness would happen _without_ her?

"A lot of things – some people, water, curses, cats –" Ranma jerked convulsively- "demons, girls, his father, his mother –"

"Don't go!" Ranma and Akane both cried out at the same time, each taking hold of one of Shiwazaru's legs.

"I'm sorry, kids, but I'm run ragged here. I haven't had a vacation in ten years! After my last one, Ranma had all these _curses_, and that cat thing – it was just a mess."

"So, what you're saying is that the last time you took a vacation, Ranma's dad trained him in the Cat-Fist?" Akane gaped.

"Well, look at the time!" Shiwazaru cried heartily, though time had apparently frozen when she touched down; neither the people on the street, nor the clock above the school in the distance had moved an inch. "Ta!"

The column of light zipped down again, but Shiwazaru's heavenly ascent was impeded by the pair of teenagers still clinging to her legs. She sighed, and turned off the light with a flick of her hand. The three of them resettled onto the earth and disentangled themselves.

"Okay," Shiwazaru said in a placating manner. "Let me make it up to you. You're authorized for a wish, Ranma. Why don't we see what we can come up with. And before you even try to say it, NO! I will not grant that _stupid_ wish you're thinking about, so drop it right now!"

"Aw!" he whined in his cursed form's girly soprano. "But world peace, Shiwazaru! Isn't that like, what angels _want_?"

"That's just…" Shiwazaru heaved an aggravated sigh – one that was _very_ familiar to Akane. "That's just not the way to go about it, Ranma. Trust me."

Ranma humphed and crossed his arms. His face was always so pitifully transparent, Akane could _see_ his thought process sometimes. When it was clear that he had thought of an idea _he_ considered brilliant (fist smacking into palm and eyes lighting up) Shiwazaru cut him off again.

"If you even _say_ that stupid idea out loud, Saotome Ranma, I will hit you so hard that _demons_ will cry."

Ranma grumbled about 'uncute angels that sounded like tomboys on earth.'

Shiwazaru smirked at him and put an affable arm around Akane.

"Well, we both have to deal with _you_ all day, don't we, Akane?" Akane giggled her affirmative as Ranma humphed some more.

"Hey, okay, Ranma," Shiwazaru said sympathetically, drawing him in by the wrist. "How about you think about it – really _think_ about it, now – and in the meantime, I'll give Akane a present I got from a friend. How's that?"

Ranma grunted in a non-committed fashion, still apparently deep in thought.

Shiwazaru released him and whipped a gigantic battle hammer out of nowhere.

"Here you are, Akane, this is right up your alley." She hefted it in Akane's direction. It had at least four feet of handle, and a head covered in silver and blue runes. "It belonged to a friend of mine, but she says she doesn't need it as much as you do. She calls it Zu-Mjollnir-Sif, but you can just call it Zusif. Give it a try!" Shiwazaru chirped enthusiastically. "It repels demons! It does damage proportional to the evil intent of the smash-ee! It launches the smash-ee a distance proportional to his/her/its perverted intent! Returns to you whenever you summon!" Shiwazaru snapped the manual shut and handed it over. "And other stuff. You can read all about it in the user's guide."

"What!" Ranma spluttered. "What are y'doing, givin' a super-powered holy weapon to the likes of _her_!" He started hopping around, waving his arms. "She's violent to the point of demented! She's got a fuse like a bulldog with jock itch! She's – "

Both girls had tuned out his ranting by now, and Shiwazaru made a magnanimous hand gesture that clearly said 'Be my guest."

Akane shrugged and took a long swing.

There was a musical 'ding' sound, and Ranma shut up, but he looked more surprised than anything else.

"It doesn't work!" Akane frowned, taking another swing, just in case.

"Akane," Shiwazaru said in her 'let's not fight' voice as the second swing had the same lack of result as the first, "it does say 'proportional to perverted and/or evil intent' in the manual. I don't think he's exactly being evil or perverted right now."

"Well," Akane huffed, choking up on the handle a few feet to get in some faster swings. She had hit him about fifteen times now, but was having about as much effect as if she was swinging an inflatable toy hammer. "Can't you like… have some perverted thoughts or something?" Ding, ding, ding. Still nothing.

"Uh…" Ranma hedged. Ding, ding. "Let's just try it out later, okay?"

Akane huffed and blew hair out of her eyes, letting the mallet blink out of existence. "Well, thank you, Shiwazaru. I'm sure it's very cool." She frowned again. She was not even sure if she was more disappointed that it appeared to not work, or that Ranma apparently did _not_ have perverted thoughts about her. This was a deeply confusing sentiment, and something that is best set aside for later examination. The trouble was that, in _this_ town, Akane never really got a quiet moment to herself where she could reflect on her feelings. In the long run, it makes you cranky about the world in general. But that's not where we're going with this. Back to the moment.

"Don't worry, Akane, you'll get some good use out of it once I'm gone." Shiwazaru favored them both with a smile. "And speaking of which, here's my assistant!" Another beam of light had shot of the sky. "That's my cue to get the hell out of dodge. So long!"

She zipped into the sky, accompanied by her column of light and a super-accelerated choir of angelic voices, sounding like a holy band of chipmunks on fast forward as she practically rocketed back into the heavens to avoid further delays. There was almost a winged after-image in her wake.

"Hm, she's pretty fast. So anyway," Ranma said casually, starting off for school again, "Mom's been acting kinda weird lately. You notice anything?"

Akane snagged the back of his shirt before he wandered off. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"At least wait for your other angel to show up, Ranma." She jerked his shirt a little. "And be nice! I don't want bad things to happen to my family just because you can't be polite to your own guardian angel."

Ranma grumbled something.

Nabiki chose that moment to arrive, and she took in the scene with a dispassionate glance.

"Ranma get dumped by his guardian angel?" she asked casually.

"How does she _do_ that?" Ranma howled to the sky.

"Simple, Ranma," Nabiki raised one eyebrow delicately. "I have a brain."

Ranma spluttered a somewhat vulgar response, and a bucket of water came flying out of a window and hit him square on the head.

"I'm already a girl!" he shrieked at the now-closed window. "And stop throwing water out of windows, you sick bastards!"

"Ranma, Ranma," Nabiki clucked her tongue disapprovingly as Akane tried (and failed pitifully) to stifle a giggle in the background. "Hit by cold water twice already? It's only eight-twenty," she gave her expensive new wristwatch an admiring look before pulling out her black planner and making a note of it. "Someone's going to have a field day in the betting pools."

"That first one was divine intervention," Ranma grumbled.

"So it was," Nabiki acknowledged, making a note of it in her book before putting it away. "As for this guardian angel, what do you think about getting dumped, Mr. Saotome?" she held up a mock microphone in front of Ranma's soggy, pouting face.

"Whatever," Ranma said grumpily, turning to march himself towards the school. "I gotta get to school and find some hot water to change back."

"Cold water always finds you anyway, you know," Nabiki remarked, crossing her arms complacently over her chest.

"Whatever," Ranma said again, still marching determinedly away.

Nabiki raised one eyebrow in Akane's direction with a mischievous smile and a wink, counting down on her fingers. Three, two, one.

_Sploosh._ The light beam had missed the road entirely and went straight for the canal, spraying a geyser of water everywhere. Well, 'everywhere' in this case to mean where _Ranma_ was, and not anywhere near where Nabiki and Akane were standing.

All but knocked over by the huge tidal wave of water, Ranma just screamed expletives to the heavens, imprecating them on everything from parentage to personal hygiene and mental health.

"Eight twenty-one," Nabiki murmured to herself, already making another note in her planner.

* * *

BY THE WAY: Since I am posting, it's accepted fact that there has been a dearth of R/A. Nothing for me to read. Left high and dry by the likes of you. Yes, you, Vaniah, and YOU, Sodalicious! Don't let me catch you writing some review when you should clearly be putting up an update of your stories. Write, damn you! Don't make me come after you. One-shots don't count, Vaniah. And where are you, Sakk, Lunar Ember, Rui? And you, Koala Kitty! Don't think I'm not keeping an eye on you. You and your… Kentucky-ness. You'd better get a move on. Kayemsi, BTB, Amethyst Amber, you are all excused. But Trent O'Donoghue! You are the one who has wounded me most grievously. Why have you forsaken me? Why oh why. What a world, what a world. Blub, blub, blub. 

Don't review. I see you eyeing that button. Just hit the back button on your browser, and no one has to get dismembered. That's right. Good people. I see that you enjoy the company of your limbs. Now go use those limbs I benevolently left you with, and write something.


	3. Nabiki

Disclaimer: I love you Trent O'Dono-!

Wait. Retry.

Disclaimer: Write something, Vaniah!

No, sorry. Give me another chance.

Disclaimer: Yaaaaaaay Rendevous with Fate was updated over Christmas! Celebrate! Rejoice!

Oops. One more try. Come on.

Disclaimer: I don't even write stories that could possibly generate money. Why do we even do this? I didn't invent Ranma, and Icertainly don't plan on monopolizing him or his storylinefor my personal benefit. I write to stay sane, as strange as that may sound to you. I don't pretend to own anything. We don't even have ownership over our own souls in the existential sense, we-

Enough of this drivel! For more information, please read Henry David Thoreau's "Walden" and other works. You know, _good stories_.

* * *

My schedule was getting tight these days, with exams and applications piling up around me, not to mention my usual extracurricular activities. Scholarship applications were competitive and numerous, and it was hard enough to keep track of them all while maintaining my impeccable grade point average. Throw in tutoring sessions with Ranma and keeping the dojo afloat, all while keeping an eye out for the safety of my family made my days pretty full. But I took some significant time out of my schedule (time usually reserved for flopping on my bed and letting the day drain away, or having iced vanilla lattes to reward myself) to have a serious talk with Ranma concerning his ability to protect Akane, and how I'd have to take steps to remove him if he proved inadequate. This was just after both our fathers had concocted yet another hair-brained scheme to wed the two of them, and I had to go to some lengths to break it up. Well, okay; a few well-placed invitations was really all it took, but it was handled with finesse, that's the important part. This wedding fiasco, coupled with vague reports concerning a few happenings in China, had me concerned, to say the least.

No money changed hands during that meeting, even though he offered just about everything he had left in a pitiful attempt at bribery. I turned him down flat, which must have emphasized to his feeble little mind just how serious I was.

Honestly, I like the little jerk; his heart's in the right place and he's always good for some entertainment when I need some, but he has a job around this house, and I am not going to let him forget it. Yeah, you little free-loading ailurophobe, you _are_ replaceable, so don't let me catch you slacking off again.

After my brief and menacing lecture, I let the threat sink in for a few moments. I could see he was thoroughly freaked, as well he should be.

"Alright, don't panic," I finally interrupted the sound of rusty gears lurching into a creaky overdrive. "No one's kicking you out – don't plan my grisly demise just yet." He flushed a cute crimson that always gave him away.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said, in a decidedly friendlier manner now that he understood how precarious his position was. "I've decided that you've earned a chance with me, so I'll teach you my Art. It's a very specialized branch of the Tendo Anything Goes School, and if you can learn my style to my satisfaction – that is, defeat me at my own game – then I'll just have to trust you with the safety of my younger sister, eh? After all, I have to leave for college sometime in the next year, and I can't watch her from America."

"Really?" He was so pitifully transparent. Something we'll have to work on in the coming weeks. His face was like watching the sun coming through the clouds. "You'll teach me to do that mind-reading thing you do?"

"I can't teach you to read minds, you ninny. I can teach you to think ahead and have proper backup plans. At least, my intention is to teach you or have you die trying."

"Wow, cool!" he said in awe. Ranma was so easily impressed by planning. I've seen it too many times to not realize it. He complete inability to plan whatsoever makes it so even the littlest bit of thinking ahead completely stumps him every time. I guess if I grew up not knowing what would happen one second to the next like he did, I'd probably have trouble thinking ahead too. At any rate, if I stay two steps ahead of the regular populace, then you'd have to say I'm about a mile and a half ahead of Saotome the Younger.

"This isn't free, you know, so get that smile off your face," I added sternly. "You still have to show me that you're able to focus properly. Not dance off with skeletons like Dr. Tofu. Remember him?" I directed the Eye of Evil at Ranma, before continuing darkly. "I had to get rid of him."

Ranma gulped. Nevermind that Dr. Tofu's absence was hardly the result of my interference, but I like to let Ranma think what he will. And he was clearly terrified of such a fate.

"You're going to ask Akane out, and you're going to be normal all the way through it," I declared seriously.

Ranma turned to stone and fell over.

I sighed and picked up the glass of water I had prepared for just this eventuality. I dumped it on him, turning him into a stone statue of a girl on her side instead. After another moment or two, she came spluttering back to life with about eight "what!"s trying to get out of her mouth at the same time.

"You heard me," I repeated mercilessly. I sat back to give her another minute or two to unlock her brain from terminal freeze.

I think the kid's got potential. She's learned most of what I have to teach just by watching. Her immaturity may yet be her downfall – you can't learn to beat me with that kind of attitude. Oh well. That's Akane's concern. It's up to her to fix it. If she can't control it enough to learn the Nabiki Tendo School of Anything Goes Martial Arts, that's her loss.

As for me, I have to consider my future. I've always thought, prior to the whirlwind arrival of the Son of Chaos here, that I'd find my way into business, maybe conquer the world one market share at a time after a profitable few years in a university in America.

But now, well, as much as I can't stand it, Ranma may be right. All the money and power in the world isn't going to add up to much without family. I doubt that was even what he meant to say that one time we discussed it, but that's what I heard, and it really struck a nerve. I can't just abandon Kasumi and Akane to the kinds of lunacy that go on around here. They need my protection, and they're going to get it, even if I have to move the Tokyo Stock Exchange to our backyard to keep an eye out for them. Daddy, after all,hasn't beenany help. But for the years I'm going to spend earning a degree, someone is going to have to take over in that department, and it had better be Ranma. I don't have time to train another apprentice.

"Get up," I snapped at her. She was still spluttering 'whats' on the floor. "And get moving. You have until the end of the week to do it, or I won't teach you one thing. And you know what happens when you stop being useful to me." I brought all my powers of intimidation to bear, and she scampered out of the room double-time.

Which brings us to today. He's got two days left, and I seriously doubt he's made any progress at all. Well, they had a screaming match the other night. That was very likely the result of an attempt at asking my sister out. He's got a long way to go, doesn't he? But at least he's come a long way in mastering my Art. Well, he's begun to plan ahead in his first task: splash Nabiki Tendo. I started out easy on him – he has no experience with _thinking_, after all. Yesterday morning, he tried the old "bucket over the door" trick, and I could only shake my head in disappointment when I tricked him into splashing it on himself instead. Really. A long way to go, indeed.

Well, dwelling on it won't make the training go any faster. This part is something he has to figure out on his own. But getting splashed three times before school starts? That's not exactly making forward progress.

Ranma continued muttering darkly and attempting to dry herself off with her handsas the substitute angel hobbled out of the canal and shook dry. We all looked at the guardian for a long moment.

"It's a dog." I thought I should point it out. These two weren't exactly Mr. and Mrs. Obvious, if you catch my meaning.

"It's so cute!" Akane all but squealed and swooped it up into her arms, dropping her book bag on the ground. Akane has a penchant for cute things. Like Azusa, only … not annoying. Or kleptomaniac.

Well, the dog _is_ pretty cute with those tiny pink angel wings. If Akane didn't have the cuddling market cornered over there, I'd probably have to join in, myself.

Ranma was bending over to pick up Akane's book bag as she walked off with the new puppy lathering her face with puppy kisses, but she was taking entirely too long doing so, as if she was waiting for me to walk past him. Still an amateur, I see. I waltz by, but turn around before she can hit me with that water balloon she's hiding. I pull open a corner of my school jacket to show her the packet of mandragora I got from Pink and Link, which would knock us both unconscious with its cries if soaked.

She smirked in that boyish way of hers, balanced the balloon on her head to reach into her shirt, and produced a pair of oversized earplugs to stuff in her ears. I sighed as I pulled a dart out of my sleeve. That moment of gloating would forever be her downfall. I flicked the dart at the balloon, soaking Ranma for the fourth time that day.

Before she could even shriek in protest, Kuno had shown up with his arms around her ample chest, groping for every yen he was worth.

Kuno was subsequently struck in the face by Shampoo's bike, which had undoubtably been aiming for Ranma's head. She was knocked off her bike by both the Principal and a soggy-looking panda wielding a steaming kettle. The panda was taken down by a mailbox with legs, and the Principal was hit by a white blur and a loud 'clank,' which must have been Mousse.

And so on, and so forth. Ryouga ("Ranma, prepare to die!"), Happosai, Pantyhose Tarou, Gosunkugi, Kodachi (and her laugh), the ghost cat, Touma ("Ranma, I really need to speak with you), more cold water, Akari Unryuu, a blonde foreigner in dusty jeans, a cheerleader, some hot water, a snowboarder with a ray gun, Konatsu, even more cold water, accompanied by a sea creature from the deep. Pure, headache-inducing pandemonium erupted on all sides in the span of three heartbeats, and Ranma's screaming in a rapidly gender-switching voice was just about drowned out by the threats, cat-calls, and demands for justice. If anyone else _did_ arrive, I can only assume that they did so _within_ the growing dust cloud in the middle of the street.

"Nerima to Los Alamos, we have achieved fall out, repeat, the shit has hit the fan," I mockingly reported. Nobody heard me. Well, there goes another wasted wisecrack. I edged over to Akane, trying not to make any sudden movements. She was still cuddling the puppy, and had apparently dubbed it "Inutenshi". I rolled my eyes at her, but again, no one noticed.

"So," I said as casually as I could over the noises of battle going on in front of us. "This is life without Ranma's guardian angel, huhn?"

Akane only shrugged. "He's such a trouble-maker, isn't he?" But her words didn't carry any malice at all. Ah, young love. It's so cute that I want to throw up sometimes. Living with it every day just makes me want to scream. Or at least milk some guy's money right out of his pockets as a vague form of vengeance. Whatever. They can have their little messed up relationship. But this fight is blocking my way to school.

"Can't you, I don't know… do something about this?" I gestured at the fray, which had now escalated into bombs and katanas.

"I suppose he could use our help," Akane mused aloud. "What do you think, Inutenshi? Should we give Ranma a hand?"

Inutenshi yipped happily and wriggled in her arms.

"Alright then," Akane said brightly, setting the angel-puppy down. "Do _you_ do anything? Or should I try out my new hammer?"

Inutenshi made little figure eights, scurrying around Akane's legs.

"Okay," Akane sighed, hefting a giant, glittering blue and silver battle hammer that appeared out of nowhere. I raised one eyebrow, but decided not to comment. "Here goes. Who should I try Zusif out on?" She squinted at the growing cloud of dust and debris in the street. "Well. Anybody would be fine at this point." She lined up and swung the hammer by the end of the four-foot long handle into the midst of the fray.

There was a near-deafening crack of thunder and a smallish figure rocketed out of the melee at about Mach 2. The fighting screeched to a halt for a moment as everyone turned to look with stunned expressions. I think that might have been Happosai.

Inutenshi yipped again and licked Akane's sock.

"Ah, my fierce tigress Tendo Akane, you have-" and with another boom, Kuno became test subject #2.

"Ta-daaa! I foo-und yoo-u!" A voice sang out, and a dark-haired girl dropped out of (literally) thin air to land on Principal Kuno's head, dropping him like a sack of rocks.

A short aside here. After Ukyou, Tsubasa, Herb, and Konatsu, I am (and I'm sure Akane is, as well) relatively wary of assuming too much about newcomers. Take this one, for instance. (S)he had short, spiky black hair, heavy eye makeup, and a black leather bustier. But was she necessarily a girl? Who knew anymore. Those assets filling up that bustier could be natural, artificial, or the byproduct of any number of magicks. Leaern to expect the unexpected, right? But for now, until it's confirmed one way or another, let's just use female appellations for convenience.

She was glowing black (it is difficult to describe, really) and was wielding a pair of sharp-looking bladed tonfas. Her face suddenly took on a more serious look than the cute, girly elation it was wearing a second ago, and she howled in a demonic, mega-amplified voice as her eyes went fiery:

"I am _DISCORD_, and I have come for your _soul,_ Ranma Saotome!"

And the street promptly exploded under our feet.

* * *

A/N: Okay! That's it! A brief diversion to your day. Now that I've metaphorically breathed life into R/A on this site, the rest of you are free to … you know. Return to your regularly scheduled writings. In case that wasn't clear enough, it means: WRITE OR DIE, FOOLS. Yes, I think I've gotten my point across now. Wait, I have to… do that reviewer thing. 

REVIEWERS: I figured out that the review reply button only replies to one person at a time, and that was too slow for me. I always wondered why authors put these things in their stories, and now I know. Here it is:

To all my genteel, fabulous, foolhardy, and flattering reviewers,

I am sincerely touched by your responses, and I feel very flattered and grateful for all of your kind words. I fear that my chainsaw may yet not be enough for all of you, and so I'm also sharpening my assortment of other implements of doom while humming a merry Christmas carol or two. Look how happy you've made me! By sacrificing your time (and limbs) you've really brightened another person's day, what good people you are!

Vaniah, you've proven to me that you are still alive and writing, but your considerable talents are being wasted on reviewing silly stories (this story, I mean). Do you type better with your left, or your right hand? What's that? You have another one-shot for me for Valentines? How sweet! I have a butcher knife here that has _your_ name on it! What was your address again?

Priestess Kohana, you've generously donated two of your limbs to the cause! Brava! A standing ovation, indeed! The world needs more troopers like you!

Alessia79, I was not quite fooled by your somewhat amateurish attempt at the Jedi Mind Trick. I was, in fact, aware of your kind words of encouragement and I am deeply moved. As a sign of my gratitude I will let you choose the chainsaw or the katana. What you need to ask yourself is this: do I like the Army of Darkness look?

Angela Jewell, your comment is the most important of all. As is obvious by the author's handle, I am a huge Akane fan. And there are so few of those. I am disappointed by stories portraying her as an abusive, psychotic gorilla. It makes me feel that those were all written by a boy who doesn't understand women at all, (though I'm sure that's not true). For when a boy truly gets to know a real girl, the first thing he discovers is that we are _all_ crazy. Not even just a little. If we want to go berserk and kick, punch, kill, or smash with a hammer, that's our prerogative. If we want to cry and pout and be loved, we'll do that. And if you can't keep up, why do you blame _us_? I think Akane is a plenty realistic girl (as realistic as manga gets) who can be easily loved by a tough, resilient guy like Ranma. And that's exactly how she's portrayed in my story. With very normal, third person prose. Thanks for your comment. I'm glad someone's in my camp.

The bottom line is that the whole story revolves around the huge difference between what each character 'sees' during the course of the day. Akane sees her fiancé(e) in very compromising situations with other women (often naked) (and sometimes even men) and jumps to the natural conclusion, and then proceeds to Hulk Smash as any semi-rational woman would do in her place (any woman who can, in fact, Hulk Smash. It's a tricky technique). Ranma… well we'll get to his point of view eventually. This chapter is Nabiki, and she should have similar views as Akane – just with more information. Important tidbits, such as Shampoo crawled into bed with Ranma, not the other way around, and oh yeah, P-Chan is a perverted teenage martial artist with a water-borne curse.

Hey, what am I doing writing such a long reply to you? This is a huge tangent. Why are you still here reading this? You should be writing! Helllloooo? "She walks in beauty?" Ring a bell? Get going! I've got a bullwhip around here somewhere, and you do _not_ want an introduction, so I suggest you get those fingers on a keyboard somewhere, before they become a centerpiece in my chef d'oeuvre, "Lazy Slow Authors on Spikes".

That all goes for the rest of you people as well, who are straying towards the Review button down there. I've tried to ramble on so that you wouldn't make it to the bottom and be tempted by that cute blue button, but no, you've been unnaturally stubborn thus far. Don't click on it. I have eyes _everywhere. _They're watching _you. Like a hawk._


	4. 3rd Person Omniscient

AHA! I've caught you red-handed, Kachie! Still alive, are you? I had a grave marker near my monitor for you and "Past and Future" that I lit incense sticks for every bloody day. I cried over that little monument to your story and your supposed premature death, I'll have you know. _Cried. _ And this is how you repay me? By popping up years later and demanding another chapter from _me_? This is like a soap opera. A tragic one. Boo hoo.

Oh, right. Disclaimation.

YOU should know by now that I don't own any of this, and I'm not making profit on it, either.

MUST I put a disclaimer on every chapter? Who knows the answers to these questions.

UPDATE number four involves general third person narrative. I thought it was about time.

YOUR most humble servant ATS, thanks you for writing – er, reading.

STORY is below. It's a little short, but you should let it evolve as it will.

* * *

Nabiki was spared from the explosion by a towering figure wearing what appeared to be tiger print. He turned to face her, and she double-blinked at his cat-like eyes, alight with excitement, despite the numerous cuts and scrapes from flying debris.

"I have rescued a woman!" he declared loudly in her face, and Nabiki double-blinked again. "I will now proceed to touching!" Much to Nabiki's sudden alarm, he outstretched claw-like hands toward her chest, muttering to himself the whole while about groping procedures.

He narrowly dodged a glowing blue battle-mallet.

"You keep your paws off my sister, pervert!" Akane shrieked at the top of her voice, pulling back for another swing.

She caught him straight on the top of the head, plowing him directly down into the already-cracked pavement. Her eyes cast suspiciously about for Lime's partner in perversion, Mint.

He was almost surgically attached to the leather bustier of the woman in black. Said woman (Cursed man? Cross dresser? Animal-made-human-by-tragic-accident?) shrieked in mortified rage and disappeared in a puff of black smoke, knocking Mint to the ground with the rest of the unconscious horde.

As the cloud cleared, it revealed Happosai, sitting calmly atop the pile of charred bodies, smoking a pipe and chatting with Mint as if they had been in the middle of afternoon tea the whole while.

"Now, students," he continued in a lecturing tone. "Here, we have a special case. Ranma is a _boy_, in possession of a divine female form. In this case, you don't have to be so gentle or forgiving, as I've been teaching you to be. Beat her up and take a good snuggle."

"What the _hell_ have you been _teaching_ these _morons_, you old _fart_?" Ranma shrieked as she drove her fist toward the diminutive lecher/master. That boy doesn't miss a beat, does he? Girl. Cross-dresser. ...Whatever.

Her fist slammed into Lime's open palm and nearly cracked in half. Ranma howled, hopping around the devastated street, alternately clutching her hand and shooting dark glares toward Lime, who shone with holy fervor. A halo of light had popped up around him as he took a heroic stance.

"The noble master is educating us to be connoisseurs of all women!" He declared proudly.

"Yes!" Mint added enthusiastically, waving a celebratory flag. "We are learning how to appreciate all women have to offer!"

A dark storm cloud rumbled over Ranma's head; this was likely due to the fact that Mint was attached to her ample chest like a fox-leech cross-breed.

"Why, you!" Ranma roared – or rather, she used words somewhat stronger than this, but it's not necessarily proper to repeat them here.

She had barely raised a fist when Lime and Happosai were suddenly a part of the mess, and the three of them against a cursed Ranma spells bad news for personal integrity and dignity everywhere.

That's probably why Akane decided to intervene with another well-placed mallet-swing. This time, she made sure she sent the evil pervert (the original one, we're talking about) into another yesterday, via the crossing of the International Date Line.

As for Ranma, she managed to throw the pair of lechers-in-training off with a ninja body transfer (who says she didn't learn anything from Konatsu?) not with a log, but with a clothing store mannequin. Let's not discuss how she obtained it, I'm sure you don't want to know.

"Ooh, this woman's boobs are very hard," Lime noted with as much clinical detachment as he could muster, with amateur-level gropes.

"Yes, Lime," Mint agreed professionally. "All women are unique, as the master says. We must give each one our individual attention."

Mint had struck a noble pose, as he had been taught: fist in the air, legs apart, one hand on his hip. He had lived with Master Herb long enough that he was able to maintain that pose even as he was smashed into orbit by a furiously glowing Akane.

She turned to Lime, his hands still on the mannequin's chest, with deceptive calm. He grinned at her obliviously, clearly not noticing her demonically glowing eyes and ominously swaying blue warhammer of doom.

Probably because his attention was on her boobs. How unfortunate for him that this fact was not lost on Akane as she advanced.

But let's just look over here for a moment, why don't we, children? Isn't that a nice flower there, by the sidewalk? Please ignore the gruesome cries of excruciating agony behind us. It is of no moment. Hey! Isn't that a ladybug crawling up the stem? How cute!

A fanged tooth, covered in the blood of tigers, falls into our view of the flower, and the ladybug, startled, buzzes away. We shall also move our attention elsewhere – hey, that girl across the street, don't we know her?

Yeah, sure we do, wasn't she in our math class a couple of years back? I thought so. Hey, she's cut her hair! Why don't we go over there and chat with her a bit instead of sticking around here?

Well, it appears she had the same idea, because she seems to be fleeing the scene as fast as her legs will take her. Oh well. Perhaps she has something pressing that needs to be done.

"Alright already, Akane," Nabiki interrupted dryly, scooping up Inutenshi, who cowered behind her, whimpering. "I think it's dead, and we're going to be late." She drilled her fingers against her hip. "Principal Kuno's not here anymore, so I can only assume he's gone ahead to plan something humiliating for us."

"Not if I can help it!" Ranma cried defiantly, and scooped up her bag, Akane's bag, Akane, and Nabiki, and rocketed toward the school in the distance.

Inutenshi yipped in surprise, and Nabiki sighed, trying to hold on to the angelic dog, her school bag, and hold down her school skirt while flying along. She knew she should have gone in early today.

"What about everybody else?" Akane asked, craning around to look behind them.

"They'll be fine," Ranma replied impatiently, "Discord never actually hurts anybody herself." Akane looked like she was about to say something else, but they arrived in front of the closed and quiet school gate.

"No one's in sight," Ranma mused as she vaulted the gates with ease. "I wonder -" But she was cut off as they landed on the other side, right into a trap floor.

* * *

Bonus Section: Fear Factor vs. Ranma Saotome!

"I hear you've won a few martial arts tournaments," Ranma commented between mouthfuls of his first plate. He was shoveling it in with his left hand, and keeping crickets from escaping with his right. The other contestants looked on in horror.

"Yeah…" Joe mumbled, completely absorbed in the nauseating display in front of him. Ranma deftly caught a cricket as it made a desperate bid for survival from his mouth, and broke its legs with a twist of his fingers before popping it back in and crunching it to oblivion.

"Well if you want to spar or something, maybe after I finish lunch," Ranma cheerfully was digging into his second plate of rotted durian and live anchovies. The contestant he stole it from was still gaping at him in abject terror. "I haven't gotten much chance to fight too many American styles since I've been here –" he burped and spit out beetle shells. "I was really looking forward to it when I first came over, but I've been so busy with all the other stuff you guys got going on around here." He picked up the bile, maggot and fish eye shake and tossed the straw out of it before gulping it down directly out of the jug.

"And what…" Joe attempted to keep the show on track, "what… have you been up to since you got to America?"

"Well, you know," Ranma scooped up a handful of snails from the bucket. Joe was supposed to have blended them into the shake, but he had been distracted by the truly stomach-turning scene in front of him. And we don't blame him at all for that. "Hey! You shelled them already, cool!" Ranma shoved a huge handful of wiggling snails in his mouth. "Usually, you mmff-" he swallowed quickly, "usually you have to shell each one and the eating is so slow! This is pretty great, guys, thanks!" He helped himself to the final contestant's plate (cow testicles, sheep brain, sugar-coated cockroaches, alive and hissing, all topped with a fine pig's blood sauce). The third contestant had long since disappeared around the corner to be violently sick.

"Anyhow, there's been a lot of great stuff to try out in America. Stuff like bull-fighting and car-racing, and I've tried sky diving and boxing. Football and those other team things have been cool, but it's hard for me to get all the rules down, and there's all these people that are on your side, and you've got to fight together. That's just a little different for me." Ranma mercifully closed his mouth to chew the still-struggling cockroaches into submission.

"Well, uh, Ranma…" Joe said, valiantly maintaining his cool (and his breakfast), "since it seems you've won the fifty thousand dollars, tell me – what are you going to do with your money?"

"This whole thing has been great, I mean, doing that cool helicopter thing, and the car flipping thing, that was neat. And lunch, well, I'm always happy to eat, you know. And giving me money, well that totally makes my day! I'm gonna use it to buy this girl I know … uh… something. Maybe cooking lessons!" He snorted mirthlessly, sending a smattering of pig's blood everywhere.

"Aw! Using it on your girl, that's …cute." Joe had difficulty getting this last out, while watching Ranma use the last of the sheep's brain to mop up the remaining pig's blood on his plate before levering it all into his mouth. He had almost said 'revolting'. "Does she really need a fifty thousand dollar cooking lesson?" he joked.

Ranma snorted again and fished cockroach chitin out of his teeth. "Does she ever! This was total _gourmet_ compared to her stuff. What she manufactures in the kitchen is registered by the government as weapons of biological warfare."

"Really," Joe mused as Ranma went back to scraping his plates clean. "Do tell. Well, have her come round the office, Ranma. We may just have a job for her..."

* * *

ATS notes:

I added that last bit because the story wasn't very long, nor as funny for me when I read it through. It's hard to be funny on demand, isn't it?

Well! I feel I've been successful in preventing foolish mortals such as your lovely selves from reviewing my story, but clearly my threats to particular writers haven't borne any fruits. I positively _suspect_ you're out there, reading this, Vaniah, Kachie, Trent, all of you.

Speaking of you, Vaniah, how are you? Been good lately? Watching 24? Jack was such a sucker to buy that guy's story, of course he was a traitor, right? Shouldn't have let him pick up that case before they left, of course it was a bomb! Okay, I lied, I was suckered, too. Don't you think Lynn should tell someone that his keycard was stolen? Yes, I thought so, too.

But enough with the small talk! I've got a case of muffins here, recognize these? They were stolen from your secret stash. Under your desk. I thought so. Unless you start writing and updating your stories _immediately_, one of these muffins is going to get devoured every day until I see a new chapter of your crime-drama (no oneshots). I know you have some special attachment to this banana nut one here, she's going to be the first to go, should you not cooperate. Don't call the police, and don't try and be a hero. No one has to get hurt here, just comply with our demands, and your muffins will not be eaten. This is your only warning. We expect to see results, so you'd better get moving.

--Muffin Terrorist Out. End communication.


	5. Fujiwara Sayuri

Look out! Behind you! A disclaimer!

No seriously. Disclaimers have claimed many authors, creative thinkers, reviewers, and readers, as I'm sure you can imagine. Keep a sharp eye out. Might want to put one of those rear-view mirror things on your monitor. You know. Just in case this story isn't my property, and I'm not profiting from it in any way. Things like that can sneak up on you, see?

And you might as well go that extra step and keep a freshly baked muffin with you at all times. Because that's how you escape from a rampaging disclaimer (or author bent on revenge for not updating coughvaniahcough), by distracting it with a muffin (preferably fresh-baked, maybe blueberry. Yeah I could go for a warm blueberry muffin right about now. Mmmmmm.) while you run for your scrawny little life. No. Don't eat it! You're supposed to keep it in case - What are you doing, you fool! Fine. Eat the be-damnable muffin. Then I'll tell you the one last way you can save yourself. What you do is this:

1. Get together your survival gear. Toothbrush, swiss army knife, knapsack, old copy of FFX, and a fluffy bunny. Might as well throw in some more muffins, if you're going to bake the lot. People might get hungry.

2. Get to writing. My suggestion is a R/A waff, but I'm not the boss of you. Write what you want. Just get moving. Don't know what to write? Affix the term "R/A waff" in your head, maybe read something by Brianna Aisling, and just start typing on a blank sheet anything that comes to mind.

3. Post story. Don't forget disclaimer, or this will all have been for nothing, dummy.

Any other warnings I should disclose? How about the fact that this chapter also gets us nowhere in the general trend of storytelling? How about... this ride is not recommended for those who are pregnant, nursing, or have back problems – also you must be at least this height to ride? Does that frighten you enough to get out of line and backtrack to safety?

Oh yeah, and one other thing? Just for me? _Spellcheck._ Yeah. It's this magical device on your computer, that can attempt to correct you when you've gone horrifically wrong. What would be even _better,_ gents and ladies, would be for you, yes you, to get a proper education for yourself. Finish high school! Reach your potential! That kind of thing. Alternatively, you could read real books. The ones that get published, see, they have an editor, who makes sure that those kinds of errors don't go through. Someone... professional-like. Then, maybe you'd get used to seeing words used properly, and everyone in the kingdom would rejoice. Man, what a tangent this has been! Enough hypocrisy! On with story!

-----------------------------------------------------------------

There were a lot of nice places to live, Fujiwara Sayuri always grumbled to herself. Tibet, maybe. Nice, quiet, remote. _Quiet._ Then again, she reminded herself bitterly, Tibet meant monks, and remote, inaccessible mountaintop temples, which meant martial artists.

France, then. No, that weirdo food-stealer guy was from there. Kazakhstan, that sounded safe. Or… Iceland. Fiji, perhaps.

Regardless, Nerima, Japan, was none of those places, but it _was_ the ancestral home of her mother's family. Oh, they were better off here than they had been in America, that was _for damned_ sure, despite property damages, kidnappings, late-night explosions, and panty thieves (just to name a _few_ of Sayuri's grievances with the town) solely because they were no longer with _Rick._

Sayuri never called him 'Dad' anymore to distance herself from those nightmarish years. She also took the name Fujiwara (her mother's maiden name), and the rest of her family pretty much pretended he had never existed. This polite fiction would probably be much more effective if Sayuri herself had not existed, but she thought grimly, they'd simply have to bite the bullet.

As Sayuri understood it, her mother's family was even showing remarkable generosity (for Japanese culture) even taking their daughter and her suddenly fatherless children back into the house at all. Sayuri suspected they told the neighbors that Rick had died, instead of being in jail for repeated domestic abuse and attempted murder. May the rats have him, Sayuri added darkly.

Two and a half years later, and her mom was recovering with truly admirable bravery, finally breaking new grounds, going to school, living for herself. Sayuri was fiercely proud of her, and she suspected her grandmother was as well, but the old woman stubbornly maintained her crotchety demeanor about, well, everything. Old lady was a glacier. Well, except when she had been attacked by a 'pig-tailed masher'. Stupid, insane town, and its stupid, insane inhabitants, Sayuri grumbled. Well, she didn't begrudge her mother her family, and if _she_ could heal emotionally inside this nuthouse of freaks and fools, well then Sayuri would grit her teeth and continue going to what passed for a high school in this ridiculous district.

And if that meant being late because she ran into a sumo pig and had to detour around several blocks of rubble and broken water mains, then she'd do it. If that meant falling into a trapdoor of the Hawaiin Principal's demented design, then she'd bear it. If that meant getting soaked to the bone by landing in a pool of water over thirty feet below ground, then well – who was she kidding, _Heads Would Roll_!

Sayuri let loose a very therapeutic scream, followed by an equally therapeutic sigh that originated from her _anger chakra._ Yeah. She made that up. Just for days like these.

It was jungle-hot in the Principal's "office." Palm trees swayed in a hot, artificial breeze far over Sayuri's head. Blinding artificial sunlight beat down in the humid atmosphere (also artificial). Somewhere, parrot cries and other animal noises were probably generated by sound system, unless that nutty Kuno actually imported real jungle wildlife. Sayuri worried about that. Better get out of here before any razor-wielding artificial animals pounced. She looked apprehensively around at the hot spring she was standing waist deep in. Nope, no fake animals lurking in here. But honestly, she was hardly dressed for a jungle trek, and who knew how far she'd have to hike to get out of the Principal's office and back into the real world. Now how to climb up to the embankment far over her head?

Sayuri's thoughts were interrupted and she heaved a deep sigh of regret (mixed with animosity) as she looked up and saw a tangle of bodies falling through the trapdoor far, far above her. She pulled herself together and reminded herself it was only one year, four months, and twenty-six more days until she could leave this place for college. At a university somewhere far away. _Any_ university. _Far, far away._ Finland, maybe. Peru might be nice…

She watched detachedly, as Ranma tossed Akane and Nabiki the four feet horizontally to the safety of the embankment and proceeded to fall the remaining six feet to land right on top of her in the waist-deep hot spring.

Where he turned into a guy. A big, heavy one. Did Sayuri mention how much she didn't like this ridiculous town?

This detachment from her own body during painful events was one of the last vestiges of her previous life as the chronically abused. She was outside, looking on as Ranma frantically scrabbled around in the hot water for a second before dragging her up by the back of her school jumper.

It made Sayuri unreasonably angry to feel that way again. Not the pain, no she didn't feel that. But this detachment was costing her a life. _Her life._ She had spent too much of her sixteen years in that bodiless void of 'I'm not here, you can't hurt me,' and there was way too much therapy involved. She took an ineffectual swing at the boy, just to alleviate her anger. Probably not what her therapist would advise, but it's not like he would even feel it. Akane bashed him with blunt objects all the time, and he bounced right back.

She was yanked upwards to the embankment, where Akane was stabilizing her sister on her feet, and a tiny dog with pink angel wings was sniffing the flora with curiosity. Ranma had already heaved a much-put-upon sigh and snatched up a conveniently placed machete to begin the trek to the secretary's desk, over by the exit. He squinted up at the trapdoor, trying to get his bearings for a moment, before setting off down a self-made path.

It ought to be said that Sayuri Fujiwara did not like Ranma Saotome. Probably, she was one of the only girls in the school who didn't. No, Sayuri _despised _Ranma, a rare thing for someone who didn't do any martial arts, let alone Anything Goes Some Stupid Thing Or Other. To sum up her loathing, it could be said that Ranma had all the makings of the next _Rick_, and Sayuri invested a lot of time and effort trying to get Akane to see the light before it was too late. Sayuri wasn't quite comfortable with sharing her intensely personal experiences, but she tried every other way she could think of to get Akane to dump him before anyone got hurt. But Akane was thoroughly blind to Ranma's outrageously jealous and possessive behavior, or maybe, like many other stupid, young, infatuated girls out there, she didn't recognize these signs as precursors to controlling and dominating behavior. Clearly, his belligerent and aggressive tendencies were indulged by her whole family, making him even more dangerous to her. Sayuri set herself grimly, determined to have another go at convincing Akane her fiance was a depraved psycho while that psycho in question was busy battling a gigantic murderous sunflower plant.

But Sayuri was getting nowhere at Warp 9.5 with her arguments. _He seems a little unstable, don't you think, Akane?_ Oh, I don't know, Sayuri, why do you ask? _Don't you think he's a little out of line, putting you down all the time?_ Oh, he doesn't hurt me with stupid words, Sayuri. Like I care what he thinks. _He's awfully aggressive, fighting people at the drop of a hat, don't you think?_ Well, it's not always his fault, Sayuri. Sometimes people just come after him. _Well he does seem to solve all his problems with his fists, doesn't he? _That's really how it works in his world, Sayuri. It's how he was raised. _Was he subject to physical trauma or parental abuse as a child? Because you know, it's a strong indicator-_ His childhood was... unorthodox, okay, Sayuri? Can we not talk about it right now? _Well, surely you've at least noticed his possessive and outright jealous behavior, right?_ You think so? Over me?

As a last ditch effort, Sayuri tried: _And that pigtail! Pretty childish, eh? _And all Akane did was give him a long, speculative look as he tied the monster's tentacles in knots and left it to howl. Sayuri nearly pulled out her hair in frustration when Akane abruptly jogged away from her to walk next to Ranma without another word.

"Hey, don't get too frustrated," Nabiki Tendo consoled, taking Akane's place and handing Sayuri a medium-sized towel. "I know why you're concerned, and I totally understand where you're coming from, Sayuri." Nabiki smiled in a way that Sayuri had never seen from her before. "I hope it makes you feel better to know that I'm perfectly aware of what you're thinking, and I would never let it happen. If anything, actually, I'm more concerned about Akane than Ranma becoming violently out of control. But trust me when I say I'm monitoring the situation."

Sayuri shot the older girl an amazed look. She had never had personal dealings with Nabiki Tendo, but what she had heard around school wasn't exactly flattering or encouraging. Unsure of how to reply, she only bit her lip and looked after the pair in the distance, who were already having an argument of some kind. Akane had a glowing blue mallet in her hands, and was ineffectually swinging at Ranma with it, who was laughing at her and sticking out his tongue. That was all cut short as she laid her hands on a more earthly mallet lying in the artificial shrubbery and knocked him into a tangle of vines which were attempting to choke him to death while at the same time, razor his pigtail.

"You'd better hurry up with that towel," Nabiki advised. "Ranma will only complain if he finds out I gave it to you and not to him, and he's just so whiny sometimes." Nabiki smiled again at her private joke. Sayuri scrubbed dry as well as she could, and handed the towel back to Nabiki with a thank you.

She walked pensively next to Akane for the remainder of the half-hour jungle trek, ignoring the animatronic flora/fauna, the mutant flora/fauna, and the scissor-wielding ninja flora/fauna. She had found, in tenure at the Furinkan Higher Institute of the Absurd, that the more she ignored the ridiculous, the less it bothered her in general. She could hardly ignore the jungle heat and humidity, though, and her hair and outfit suffered as a result. Her shoes were also not suited to dodging quicksand traps and tripping over robotic sentient vine roots.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Nabiki was already deep in negotiations with the Principal's secretary, who was seated under a waving palm frond in full Tarzan-and-Jane outfit, with pointed spectacles and her hair in a tight bun. Akane was was kicking the collective perverted behind of the school's athletic population, and Ranma was battling for the safety of his braid over boiling hot springs against the Principal himself. Sayuri resolutely turned her back on all this and stiffly asked the secretary for a pass to Miss Hinako's first-period class. The secretary expertly wrote one out despite three separate explosions rocking her desk like an 8.5 on the Richter Scale.

As Sayuri followed Nabiki onto the hidden elevator/Venus Fly-Trap, she leveled one last concerned glance at Akane, who was pummeling Ranma for attacking Ryoga – both boys were actually being choked to death by pretty purple orchids that the Principal had dubbed the "Laid-Back Leis of Leisure." As the two of them were belched out onto the school grounds proper, Sayuri made up her mind. That mystic old lady she had met earlier today was right. Akane needed help, and wasn't going to accept it of her own free will. That left it up to her friends to get rid of Ranma for her own good.

Sayuri nodded to Nabiki and marched purposefully to class, fingering the mystical items in her pocket. She had a gold bracelet and four magical tablets to bring to bear against the blight that was Ranma Saotome. It was time to act.

After all.

Anything Goes.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello. I'm looking for Rui.

Alright. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen.

I'm not letting you get rid of me. How about that?

This used to be my specialty. I was good over the internet. Send me in there, I'll do it alone. And now I just... I don't know... but for what was supposed to be the waffiest R/A story ever written, it wasn't complete, wasn't nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn't share it with you. I couldn't hear your voice, or laugh about it with you. I missed my Rui. We live in a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors, so try not to laugh – I love you. _You complete me_.

Please come back to me, Rui (sobs pathetically) I just don't like Escaflowne.

PPMKatie – I, for one, appreciate your noble work. I haven't the patience to review every story that I think needs a 'hurry-up-already', so I wrote one instead, where I can sneakily slide in several subliminal messages to get authors to get a move on. You and me, we're quite the tag-team. Keep up the good work, soldier! Oh, and as for me, I update when everyone else has left me high and dry with no R/A. Fear not. There will be mushy romance. Terribly, awful mushiness is in your forecast. I'm just putting it off for a while. After all, Queen Takahashi herself managed to put it off for something like 7 seasons, 12 OAVs and 36 manga? But we will change all that to suit our purposes, won't we. MUAhahaha.

Meia09 – You seem to also be in the Knightly category. I mean. Not one story authored, but every single R/A author marked down? That's impressive. I'll sift through your choices when I'm really hard up for things to read. Thanks! When I run out, I'll update. Hey, you should try writing yourself. Having too few R/A out there is why I started writing instead of just reading. As for this story, well, like I said earlier, we are moving unerringly in the direction of waff. Slowly, but moving.

Terpischore the Whirler – Um. Your story is sad. Boo hoo.

Matrias – I'm surprised at how many people have accounts just to review. That's nice of you. I wouldn't have made one unless I was writing. Matrias, you have assembled quite the list of waffy writers (Crystal-V-Princess is the ultimate in mush, ain't she?). And I am deeply indebted to you for leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to 'Cursed,' which I would never have found on my own, since I only lurk about the Ranma section. I'll have to write you an IOU for my first born child instead of actual indebted servitude. Look at all I've learned from reading all that Ranma manga! Yay for you, starting your own story, too!

Tigerdreams – I will bust out the pom-poms in advance for _your_ story. I await with baited breath. But no more of this weird Ranma/Ryoga stuff. I was all but tricked into reading that one.

Jinn Keterrik – The reason, methinks, for the lack of reviews, is that everyone else read and took seriously the grisly threats of violence that I made against them and their beloved stuffed animals should they review. And these were not idle threats. Think of it... like The Ring. You ought now live in fear of a blurry avatar of death, sliding from your darkened computer screen late at night after you've fallen asleep, no doubt clutching yourself in terror of what you know is to come. I will slink from room to room to find you, and when I do, you can say goodbye to whatever furry animals you may deny that you own! Beware, Jinn Keterrik! _You are next!_

But thanks for the review! Like, BFF Love for Life!

Angela Jewell – HOORAY! You finished 'She walks in beauty'! And here I had almost given up on you. Hugs, kisses, and even your hostage family, returned to you in one piece! A fine job, indeed, despite – woah. That's a spoiler. I'll shut up now. But, um, yeah. You know what I'm talking about.

Bradw, Neon-Ronin, Kayemsi, MZephyr – you guys are all I've got left. Don't abandon me!

Koala Kitty, Trent O'Donoghue, Amethyst Amber – Come back, please?

So! Maybe you're thinking to yourself, I have an excuse for not updating, and I ought to tell ATS, via a review. Then, I'm afraid I'll have to warn you that I've used my vast powers to change that little Review: Go! button down there to take you not to the review page, but straight to Armageddon. And we're not talking the movie here, I mean, The End Of The World, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200. Do you really want that on your conscience for the rest of your lightless, hollow eternity, after you've wiped all existence from the pages of history?

No, I didn't think so. Better not risk it. Don't review. This is for the good of all humanity.


	6. Akane, Once More

Have you come to this point, perhaps, looking for plot? Then, imagine this: a girl, of whatever origins or configurations you please, standing on a hill, the back of her hand near her mouth, and a high pitched noise, surrounding you, sounding something like:

OH HO HO HO HO HO!

Yeah. Something like that would suit my purposes.

Also: disclaimed! Haha, weren't ready for that, were you. I warned you last chapter, that I did.

Onwards!

* * *

"Excuse me for _interrupting_ you, Mr. Saotome, but would you care to tell me what is so _interesting_ about Ms. Tendo?" Miss Hinako's voice was sharp and strict. She was in adult form, thanks to some wisps of boys now floating around the rear of the room. Akane flicked an alarmed glance back at Ranma, who sat in the back of the class (As he always seemed to. Akane figured the teachers sat him there because they thought they were further out of the danger zone that constantly surrounded him. Little did they know that the danger zone consisted of the space at least 40 yards in every direction from Ranma and everywhere he's been in the last 30 minutes.) For a split second she caught his gaze on her, but as soon as the class starting snickering and whispering amongst themselves, he jerked away with a panicked expression, locking his eyes on Hinako, who was sauntering his way.

"I was…" he stammered out, his eyes flicking back and forth between Hinako and Akane.

Akane couldn't take much more whispering. Just in case someone was getting the wrong idea, she firmly turned her back on him and ducked into her notebook, hiding pink cheeks and a smile she was sure was utterly goofy. Hey! There was no need to be embarrassed! Ranma was the one caught looking at her, not the other way around. And it was no big deal – it was only a _little_ romantic. Just a tiny bit. Probably the most romantic thing Ranma would ever do, not that Akane would, in any way, admit to reading (let alone owning) a sappy romance comic about high school puppy love! _No sir._ She had never even touched such a thing with a six-foot pole! Never even crossed her mind! Though there was a really cute one where just such a thing happened, and the guy in it was just so sweet –

"I was, uh, looking at her paper," Ranma grudgingly admitted under Hinako's grim (but extremely busty) glare.

Akane spun about in outrage, almost giving herself whiplash, but Hinako beat her to the punch (or the ki-blast, to be specific) and Ranma was sent right out the back wall into the swimming pool with a spectacular "crash n' splash," as it was jokingly referred to in this class.

"Ranma Saotome," the pre-teened version of Miss Hinako said in her shrill, childish voice, "skipping class again!" She was making a note of it in her class planner.

Akane buried her face in her hands and moaned. He was such an embarrassment sometimes!

From outside drifted up the sound of voices raised in a testosterone-charged exchange of words and insults. Apparently, Pantyhose Tarou had returned for Round Two. Inutenshi fluttered clumsily through the new hole in the wall just as Miss Hinako leaped out, hollering at the 'delinquents' that there was no fighting on her turf.

Akane scooped up the angel dog in her arms, sparing a brief glance out the window at the newest battle royale. It seemed Gosunkugi and Sentaro (that heir to the Anything Goes Tea Ceremony guy) were already knocked out on the sidelines, and those remaining were trying to duke it out while at the same time dodging around Miss Hinako's coin blasts and drainages. Ranma glanced up at her for a split second and made a goofy face before careening off Ryouga's head, through Ryu Kumon's outstretched arms, and snapping Pantyhose around by one octopus tentacle. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

_What am I going to do with you, Ranma?_ Akane grumbled to herself, holding the angel dog close. She kept a close eye on the melee below her, trying to appear unconcerned and probably failing.

"Isn't it sweet, Akane!" Yuka squealed. She had a tendency to squeak out any words if the topic was boys. Not that it annoyed Akane, nope. "He's fighting for you!"

"You always say that, Yuka," Sayuri interjected sourly. "You know he just fights because he likes fighting. He's so _violent_," she added with vehemence.

"Guys," Akane complained, rubbing he temples, "Can we just drop it for today? It's... not a good day for it."

Sayuri got the hint and left her alone – after all, Sayuri had probably had enough for the day, also. After this morning, who could blame her? It's awful how Ranma drags in all these innocent bystanders with his meaningless fights all the time.

"Hey Akane!" Yuka bubbled at her side, "I've been meaning to tell you all day – I met this mystical old lady this morning on my way to school! I bought all this stuff to help you catch your man, isn't it great!" Yuka started producing items of dubious magical quality from her bag. "I've got this – this is supposed to, like, be a love potion of some kind, and-"

Akane heaved a sigh and just shook her head, unable to come up with words to dissuade her friend. Yuka pressed something into her hand, but at that moment, a new figure walked through the front gates of Furinkan High.

"Rouge!" Akane gasped in surprise.

Rouge was still dressed in those all-together too-flimsy silks (in Akane's opinion) and she was carrying a large picnic basket. She seemed to be excited, that is, until she caught sight of the carnage in the front yard. Pantyhose Tarou (recently de-transformed), who got knocked back out of the maelstrom of fists and kicks, landed nearby, and they both gaped at the other in shock. And revulsion.

"You!" They both roared in unison. Pantyhose Tarou jerked to his feet, while Rouge tossed aside the picnic basket. Pantyhose Tarou charged in, cracking his knuckles.

"What have I told you about hittin' girls!" Ranma (also recently de-transformed) yelled as he landed on Pantyhose's head, driving him face-first into the ground. He pulled a long strand of pantyhose from Pantyhose's pockets, and began to efficiently hog-tie him on the spot.

"Hello son!" Nodoka said brightly as she came through the gates, delicately stepping over fallen bodies.

"Hi mom!" he greeted in reply, not stopping his hogtying for a moment, despite being attacked from behind by Kuno. It was always amazing how he could dodge strikes without seeming to move at all. It surely irritated Akane, so she could imagine how it would infuriate someone like Kuno.

"How is school, dear?" Ranma's mom asked with her ever-present politeness.

"Great!" Ranma did a standing backflip over the charging Ryouga and nailed him in the back on his way by.

"That's wonderful," she agreed. "I know my brilliant son works hard at his studies." She side stepped the falling Ryouga with a smile. Akane blink-blinked at how her subtle dodge looked amazingly like Ranma's own. She was also dumbfounded at how the woman approved of the general melee surrounding them.

"Yup," Ranma agreed heartily, firing some pebbles at Hinako's outstretched coins before she could suck up anyone's energy again. "That's me! So, did you come by for something?"

"Are you busy?" she asked politely.

"Not really. Here, Rouge, he's all yours." He tossed the helpless Pantyhose in her direction, and back-kicked Principal Kuno into the sky with a resounding _Ping!_

"Thank you!" Rouge chirped in her ultra-cute voice, before stomping the life out of Pantyhose.

"That's so noble of you, son!" Nodoka beamed. Privately, Akane did not think so. "Well, I came by because of this young woman here." She indicated Rouge, who had upgraded her stomping to a beating with folding chairs. "She is the one who paid for our house being rebuilt."

"Oh really?" Ranma said with interest, spinning Hinako around so she was pointing at Ryouga. The minuscule teacher had somehow gotten a hold of a broken tennis racket, and was trying to drain him through it. She got Ryouga instead, who melted mid-charge into a wisp of pork. Meanwhile, the clang of a fire extinguisher being brought to bear against a human skull could be heard from the direction of Rouge and Pantyhose.

"She would like your hand in marriage in return, and I thought it was a fair suggestion," Nodoka continued.

Yuka snagged the back of Akane's jacket before she leaped out the window in a fit of fury.

"Mo-oom!" Ranma whined, dodging around Hinako's coin blasts and letting Kuno get hit by them in the process.

"Now I know you're in training, and you've got school, and those other girls, but I thought that Rouge seemed like a nice young lady, and so I told her she was welcome to try and win you over as she saw fit." They both looked over to Rouge, who had somehow gotten wet, and was roasting Pantyhose (and by proxy, Ryouga, who just happened to float by) with her fire breath, waving her six arms about in a sinuous dance of limbs.

"What, exactly, is lady-like about her?" Ukyou drawled from nearby, where she stood ready with her spatula, but had yet to hit anything. She instead used it as a baker's peel, to scoop Ryouga's remains out of the fire.

"Roast pork, anyone?" Ranma joked.

"This isn't the time for jokes, Ranma!" Ukyou roared, dumping wispy-Ryouga and smashing her weapon/utensil down on Ranma's head. "Your mom is engaging you to _another_ girl! Do something!"

"Can it wait until the world stops that annoying tilting?" Ranma said woozily, his eyes a-swirl.

"_Ranma!_" A demon head roared through the school gates like the maw of hell itself. "_How daaaare you betray my little girllll…!_" The snake-like tongue lashed back and forth like an undulating wyrm.

Nodoka, unruffled, popped the demonic visage with a hair pin. Soun fluttered to the ground, deflated. Weakly, he produced a litter of random items.

"I spent every yen… I had… buying these… from a mystical old woman this morning, Ranma," he croaked. "She said… they would help your relationship with Akane blossom into true love –"

"What relationship," Ranma deadpanned, trampling his remains mercilessly.

"What a haul!" the ancient lecher Happosai cackled as he gathered up the array of items into his ever-present sack of panties. "With all this loot, I'll have a harem of affectionate young girls just begging to do my bidding!"

"You won't get away, you old jerk!" Ranma yelled, leaping after him.

"Not this time, Ranma! Lime! Mint! Sic' 'im!"

Lime and Mint appeared behind Ranma in rush tackles. Ranma sent a pair of backfists in their direction, catching Lime on the nose, but Mint quickly ducked. The fox-boy popped a fist into the underside of Ranma's outstretched arm and launched a flurry of kicks at his midsection. Ranma performed an all-too-easy aerial over Mint's head, pushing his cap down over his eyes.

"Outta my way, pipsqueak!" Ranma taunted in passing. "I got bigger-" he finished his sentence into the earth as Happosai bounced off his head.

Six arms wrapped around his torso from directly underneath him, and three hideously fanged faces looked up at him with something at least resembling rapture.

"So forward, darling?" the demonic Ashura purred in a beastly rumble. Ranma, naturally, turned to stone on the spot.

Akane, not quite sure if she was saving him or not in this case, seized him by the back of the collar and yanked him up. Her mallet was weighed down by Yuka and Akiko hanging on for dear life, though, and she was reluctant to swing it.

"Look!" Ranma cried, pointing. "A fifty yen piece!"

"And who," Akane ground out, "would fall for such a stupid –" she was bowled over by her father, who sped about on hands and knees, shouting, "Where! Where!"

A panda with a sign (also saying "where!") had crashed into the fleeing Happosai, bearing him to the ground.

"Figured you'd be lurking around somewhere, pops." Ranma smirked. He fished an actual fifty yen piece from his pocket and brandished it. "Here's your stinking yen, losers!"

As all three masters of Anything Goes Martial Arts charged him, Ranma deftly flipped the coin into Hinako's waiting hands and ducked out of the way.

"Happo Fifty Yen Satsu!"

"Good one, Teach!" Ranma complimented cheerily as all three former masters floated away in the breeze.

"All thanks to you, darling student!" Hinako returned, adjusting her tiny, too-tight dress and flipping her magnificent chestnut hair.

"We make a great team, Teach!" Ranma cried, leaping at her with arms outstretched. Akane wrapped her fingers around the nearest available blunt instrument – a broken tennis racket – Yuka had hold of her jacket again, though.

"That we do, student!" Hinako cried, also leaping for a hug.

At the last moment, Miss Hinako began a Happo No Yen Coin Return, but Ranma knocked her hands apart, grabbing her and pressing five (particularly perverse, in Akane's opinion) pressure points, releasing stolen chi. Being fairly expert in the process, he also immediately pulled out a lollipop and wordlessly handed it to his child teacher. She cheered and hugged his leg.

Akane, finally freed, smashed him with righteous anti-pervert fervor.

"Oh Ranma! Are you alright?" Sayuri cried, collapsing all over him sympathetically. Both Akane and Yuka paused in the struggle for the broken tennis racket to stare.

"Here!" Sayuri said heartily. "These pills are good for headaches! Why don't you _have_ one!"

"Sayuri, I…" Ranma started, but Sayuri successfully crammed the little tablet in his mouth, followed quickly by her entire bottle of water, plastic and all. She even held his nose for good measure. Ranma choked the whole lot down, and pushed her away gently. His eyes fell on Rouge.

"Hey, Rouge, can I talk to you quick?" He said as he cheerfully dragged her away at lightning speed.

"I'm sorry, Akane," Yuka cried in her struggle to hold Akane back – only succeeding because Mai and Akiko were helping her, and Akane didn't want to hurt her friends, "but this is for your own good!"

Akane felt Yuka's hands at the back of her school jumper, but her mind was still awhirl with a number of other concerns: how to get free of her friends without injuring anyone, how close to death she was going to beat Rnama for all this, what she was going to say to Sayuri and Rouge to get them to stop chasing her man, and how she was going to _get_ her man to notice her – maybe even love her back.

Akane abruptly stopped struggling at that last thought. Was there something wrong with that last statement? No, no… she was absolutely sure she loved Ranma, she always had been! What _was_ it, then?

_Oh, yes! That's right! He asked me out on a date… sort of._ Akane smiled beatifically. _This is definitely my chance!_

"Akane…?" Yuka ventured hesitantly, "Are you all right?"

"Of course, Yuka," Akane turned her brilliant smile on her friend. "I just have to hurry and get ready for my date with Ranma."

"_Really?!_" These girls were champion Synchronized Squealers, no doubt about it.

"Well, it's not really a date," Akane amended deprecatingly, but keeping her smile.

"I'd just _love_ to hear how this came about," Nabiki drawled from nearby. "And by the way, Akane, that's a _lovely_ brooch. Where-ever did you get it?" Nabiki's voice yawned like Sarcasm Chasm.

"I gave it to her!" Yuka shrieked, cutting Akane off before she could form a bewildered reply. "Yeah, it's for good luck on her… date! Isn't that right, Nabiki!" Yuka stressed this last while gripping Nabiki's hands in her own in a pretense of camaraderie – in reality, she was pressing several thousand yen into Nabiki's palm.

"Yeah," Nabiki agreed, suddenly pleasant. "Good luck has been going around lately. Come on, Akane," she said, finishing up on 'shaking hands' with everyone. "School's clearly out for the day. Let's go home already."

Akane followed her sister out amid calls for good luck, 'tell-me-all-about-it-tomorrow's, and a fiercely scowling Sayuri. Jealous, Akane supposed.

"Before I lend you money or outfits," Nabiki said, getting right to business as usual. "You'll have to tell me how all this 'date' stuff happened."

"Oh, it's not really a date, like I said," Akane demurred. "He just gave me this note –" Akane stopped for a moment to dig around in her pockets. "Well, anyway, it was a note from Akari, asking the two of us to be at that new Italian restaurant across town, to make sure Ryoga doesn't wander off during their date. Gosh, I seem to remember ripping up that note. I wonder why I'd do something like that…"

Nabiki made a noise that might have indicated suspicion, but she let the matter drop in favor of other topics. She slowed to a stop, getting Akane's attention, and pursing her lips in thought about how to approach the subject.

"Akane," Nabiki began, as hesitantly as Akane had ever seen her, which was, in all honesty, not much by regular human standards. "Can I give you some advice, sister-to-sister-style?"  
"Sure thing, Sis," Akane agreed with a good-natured smirk. "But remember, sisterly advice is traditionally given free of charge."

Nabiki surreptitiously slid her charge card slider out of sight as she regained her equilibrium without pause. "I'm injured, Sister dearest," she said in a completely neutral voice. "All I wanted to suggest was that you have a topic of conversation or two in mind, seeing as your date for the evening-"

"It's not a date!" Akane protested, but nobody was listening or cared. Maybe not even Akane herself.

"-Is not exactly brimming with social skills. I'm just afraid some innocent passersby will be injured in the extreme silence of your general attempts at getting along. Besides, you know what would happen if you waited for him to bring something up."

"Yeah," Akane agreed morosely, running one hand through her hair. "It'd be some more 'conversation' about how uncute I am."

Nabiki opened her mouth to reply, but a huge pillar of flame burst through a window of Doctor Tofu's clinic, narrowly missing the two sisters. Several elderly spilled out the front door, hobbling away as fast as bad backs and rickety canes could take them.

Akane immediately darted inside while Nabiki looked at the sky, as if to ask: why?

Inside the clinic, Rouge was wailing about not being able to find a capable, strong man for husband – was she simply not pretty enough?

Akane silently dismissed this as fishing for compliments – while this might be rude for normal circumstances, Akane forgave herself since Rouge was currently flailing about with all six arms, leaving lightning gouges in the floors, walls, and ceilings. And though one mouth was busy lamenting her 'regrettable fate,' the other two were spewing huge tongues of flame in either direction. Doctor Tofu was pinned in a corner, blocking a jet of flame with a bedside tray.

"Stop!" Akane roared over the noise. "You can't just come in here and claim whatever man you lay eyes on!" She seized the teakettle by the door that Doctor Tofu always kept handy for Ranma and splashed Rouge with it.

"Very well," Rouge replied with suddenly urbane charm. "Then I challenge you for this male." She attempted to straighten her silks, somewhat torn from her multiple transformations of the day.

"First of all," Akane began hotly, her temper beginning to fray.

"I wasn't talking to you, peasant girl. My apologies for the confusion." Rouge drew herself up stiffly and pointed a finger imperially at the doorway. "I am challenging you, Kasumi Tendo!" She returned her eyes to Akane. "Don't interfere!"

Naturally, Akane wouldn't dream of interfering. Also, as her jaw and eyeballs were lost somewhere on the floor at that moment, she was definitely in no position to be proposing interference with anyone or anything.

Everyone else available turned to Kasumi, who still stood by the doorway, having previously gone unnoticed by all. She was wearing her usual modest housewife dress, and holding a plate covered with a decorative handkerchief.

One might imagine that Kasumi would look as surprised as everyone else did. But, really, when was the last time you saw Kasumi change her facial expression for anything? She simply set her plate down on a nearby piece of charred furniture, folded her hands primly, and bowed politely.

"I accept," she said simply.

* * *

Let's play pretend for a bit. Let's pretend that you want to write a review, but you have no practical grasp of the laws and regulations behind capitalization or punctuation, and enjoy the inappropriate use of colloquial acronyms. We might also, for the sake of a detailed picture of your situation, entertain the notion that you enjoy taking risks and ignoring the dire warnings of others.

Well then, my friend, what could I say here to dissuade you? I can merely stand by and shake my head sadly at your fate. As a last request, before my Dark Side takes over, I ask you to take a long look at both of your hands before you go to sleep tonight. Appreciate them for all that they've done for you. Give yourself some time to consider your rash actions and what they have cost you. For when you wake in the morning with bloody stumps at the ends of your arms, it will be too late – far too late – to consider all that you have lost.

Also, it might behoove you to look into some dictation software, while you can still type. _With fingers._ You wouldn't want to delay the update of your own story, would you? I feel I must warn you, lack of updates _really_ makes my Dark Side … irritable.

Irritable… and _inventive_.

* * *

Hi Angela Jewell. What's up.

Hey, hey now. I was sifting through your favorites list, as I tend to do when hard up for something to read, and I found my own story at the top. Nice, though, of course, not what I was looking for. I guess I owe you something in return? Here's the deal. You are allowed to review. Just you, and this is a non-transferable free pass, also given to you as … a 'prize' for finishing "she walks in beauty" after all this time. You may suggest a name for my latest new character that gets thrown into the fray. She's a little important, so gimme a good one, or else I'm going to go with 'Yoko'.

Matrias, my comrade, my brother in arms. You and I stand alone against the tide of bad fanfiction that threatens to overwhelm us and undo our very souls. Fight on, Matrias, fight on!

Also, why don't we engage our first-born children to seal the future of Anything Goes. To Family Honor! Cheers!

Oh, and finally, this new character next chapter isn't a 'new' character, she's a… 'upgraded background character,' much like Sayuri was or is. I hope to expand even more with her than I did with Sayuri on background and personality. Like I've said before, a lot of the series is presented in Akane's (maybe Ranma's) point of view. I'm sure each character has their own background, which colors their perceptions greatly. If you have a name preference, I'm not very picky (the character was never named in the manga) and she's probably going to be sticking around for a bit, so I thought I'd fish around for names. Please feel free to continue reviewing, as I have no further need of any more of your limbs. Thank you!

Anonymous Guy 1979, I'm afraid I cannot publish two stories at once. Two stories in one head? No one can live at that speed!

And you, other reviewer! I've tried threatening limbs, pets, family, and baby blankets, but nothing I do dislodges that one, last, random person or two. I may have to threaten your very soul next. Very slick response on the Armageddon threat, though. But don't think you have me beat. I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too.

How about this: if I have mentioned your name in the last five chapters, or if you have fewer than the standard number of limbs, I welcome your insights on this name business. Otherwise… well, you've been warned, haven't you?


	7. Matsumodo Ayako

Gambit ::::::::::::::: Subject :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Action

------ :::::::::::::::::: -------- ::::::::::::::::::::::::::: --------

ON ::::::::::::::::: self: not owner :::::::::::::::::: disclaim

ON :::::::::::::::::: author: dead ::::::::::::::::::::::::: raise

ON :::::::::::::::::: author: slow ::::::::::::::::::::::::: mutilate beyond recognition

Guess what I've been doing lately... Also, a ton of mini-ideas from Angela Jewell's list of names. I am paralyzed by the overwhelming number of storylines floating around me like ocean buoys.

* * *

Disclaimer: I hate to take without permission, as I would hate to be taken from, and I apologize if someone with a right is offended by my somewhat unserious portrayal. I would never dream to insult in that way.

* * *

Threaten, though, _that_ I do with impunity: 

You Oughtn't Underestimate

My Ultimatums! Some Threats

Underlying Pre-story Disclaimers Actually Threaten Evisceration

Yet Often, Un-cautious Reviewers

Still Take Outrageous Risks, Yes?

* * *

Matsumodo Ayako was a good-natured girl of 16 years. She lived in a prefecture not far from the quarantined district jokingly referred to as the Nerima DMZ. A nice girl like her certainly didn't have any business trekking over there at 9:52am on a clear Monday morning. But the chaotic gravity that swirled and jettied around the area - no, let's face it, around one certain trouble-maker in particular - had a way of reaching out and gobbling up those vulnerable to its allure. 

Matsumodo Ayako would never be described as one such person. She was a sober, responsible young student, often referred to as 'mature beyond her years' by approving older adults. She was an industrious worker, decorated by an assortment of awards and impressive achievements, and she prided herself for the decorum with which she accepted these.

In all, she was a desperately boring girl, with no trace of humor amidst her stubborn sense of self and unwavering ambition toward her sedentary goals.

So maybe one can begin to understand Chaos' interest in her. Chaos, by nature, seeks to draw these Type A's into its sinister clutches, reveling in the destruction of their realities, their solid foundations, their meticulously constructed house of cards.

There are few greater victories for Chaos than the conversion of this type of well-mannered grey slate, and a nexus of Chaos this powerful was well-capable of it. Think about that. This Chaos Nexus is centered around an individual (who will remain unnamed for at least another paragraph) who has no internal concept of the word 'reliability'. He could not tell you what his plans were for the next five minutes, because one never knew when life was going to drop a 4-ton hippopotamus proficient in Anything Goes Sword Swallowing down from the sky to do battle. Not to say that Chaos doesn't like, or appreciate, these sorts, but Chaos clearly needs to put forth little shepherding to keep one such as he in the folds of insanity. One such as Ayako, now _that_ is a prize.

And Chaos has agents. And if they were to be ranked (which, of course, Chaos is fundamentally unable to do, but let us imagine) three would stand out from the pack, for the pandemics of Chaos they are known for. They are particularly feared because, unlike most agents and avatars of Chaos, the sole aim of these three is to generate Chaos, to amplify it, and to nurture it. It is not a side-effect of their powers or goals, it _is_ their goal.

Eris was from Greece, and may be the most commonly known of the Chaos deities. There are two facets of Eris, however, and they may be called Discord and Strife. For, in ancient Greek lore, the entity of Eris had two important functions. The darker side to Eris sowed disharmony and incited wars. The good side of Eris, however, fostered competition amongst rivals, encouraging (through jealousy and strife) each man to be better than his fellow man. Perhaps we should, in the modern day, call them Contention and Capitalism. But this is all a lecture for another day. Suffice it to say that she _loves_ Ranma Saotome, and everyone who strives to strike him from the earth is her personal delight.

The second deity feared by Order is an obscure descendant of Huin-Duin, the Chinese entity of Chaos Incarnate. She goes by the simple moniker of Ran, and few know of her; largely because few speak of her. In most Eastern cultures, the mortals know better than to do anything that might be construed as an invitation to Chaos. Maybe like, naming their child after it. That, for instance, might be a bad idea. That, a Chinese cosmologist might tell you, could bring about a catastrophic convergence of Chaos into a Nexus, where nothing ever happened in a reliable way, ever again, where gods and man struggle against one another in a vortex of purest insanity.

Maybe.

Ran loves to focus her efforts on single humans. Unlike Discord, she prefers the chaos of an individual over the disorder of war. She enjoys the irony of the human soul - giving a man exactly what he wants, and watching him destroy himself with his own desires.

She carried a three-part staff that often jangled with countless wooden tags - each inscribed with a name, a person cursed with her attentions. In these times of order and civility, she has found few willing to make deals with her, and there was but one tag, swinging by its lonesome near the top. The top was by far the deadliest - the culmination of all three of her classic curses, inscribed in blazing letters on the staff itself:

May you live in interesting times

May those in positions of power take notice of you

May you find what you are looking for

Of course, the astute reader can guess exactly _who _in this story has his name inscribed on an ornate gold and platinum tag at the very apex of Ran's staff of Chaos. Indeed, we hope there could only be _one _character in this story who would be so foolhardy as to inscribe his own name to her unholy trinity of curses. Ran didn't mind this lack of numbers.

For she was having entirely too much fun with Ranma Saotome.

The final feared agent of Chaos is a deity of Set, from Egypt. Set is less concerned with the chaos of humans, as he is with the Chaos of the cosmos itself. His blessing is the gift of elemental chaos, the seed of chaos itself.

It's a complicated issue - best left for later discussion.

None of this, at any rate, explains why a girl with pale brown hair pulled into a tight bun, and small, no-nonsense glasses perched on her sharply angled nose would be marching determinedly towards the district of Nerima, dressed in a home-made battle mecha.

Let us then take a brief glance into this girl's not-too-distant past.

Here, she is giving a press conference on her latest invention for the R/D sector of Mishima Heavy Industries, Co. It is a battle mecha suit, fully equipped with all manner of fatal weaponry. At the middle of the throng of reporters is a sharply-dressed woman with spiky black hair and heavy eye shadow. This is a woman (Cursed man? Cross-dresser? Animal-made-human by tragic happenstance? Gothic woman-impersonator?) members of the readership may have met before. This is called 'allusion', or it would be called such, but allusion is a reference made to external content. Since this was internal to the current storyline, one may call this 'internal allusion,' or, perhaps, 'excessive hubris'. This woman interrupts other questions about the battle suit and abruptly goes off-topic:

"What do you have to say about losing your position as the number one student in Japan, Miss Matsumodo?"

Ayako's grip on the podium suddenly becomes white-knuckled.

"What!?" she blurts.

"Ranma Saotome, age 16, of Nerima prefecture, just surpassed you in the national rankings, Miss Ayako," says a reporter more familiar to the teenager. A picture is quickly passed to her.

Matsumodo Ayako has never laid eyes on Saotome Ranma, but the smirking visage in the picture immediately drives her to a fit of fury. It also doesn't hurt that she is juiced up on ten cans of Red Bull, having stayed up most nights for the past two months studying for exams, tutoring classes, working as a student researcher, and captaining her school's debate and academic decathalon teams. She is always nervous just under the surface during televised interviews, and whatever Eris put in her last-minute, hastily-downed can of orange juice has just tipped the scales.

"This neanderthal!" she shrieks in impotent rage, crumpling the photo in her fist. "I've seen smarter-looking bacterial colonies!"

See? All it takes is a nudge in the right direction.

----------------------

As it turns out, Ayako probably shouldn't have spent the extra time putting those blue flame decals on the mecha suit this morning - she missed the large part of the melee by at least seven minutes. But they were certainly nice-looking decals, it should be mentioned before we go on.

Ayako was not particularly in a rational state of mind, so she saw nothing unusual about the empty school or the craters of damage. She simply reached out with a mechanized claw and snatched a floating piece of trash out of the desolately blowing wind.

"Who're you calling trash!?" the wispy piece of trash wheezed in would-be holy outrage.

Hibiki Ryouga was, to be honest, _never_ in a rational state of mind, especially when he was drained of energy; the girl in the blue-flame mecha suit did not bother him in the slightest. What bothered him was that she was getting in the way of him exacting his rightful revenge on one Saotome Ranma.

"Where is Saotome Ranma?!" Ayako roared in a mechanically amplified voice.

"That's my line," Ryouga protested with as much vehemence as he could muster, given current circumstances.

"Look, piece of trash, I didn't make the extensive trek to your bucolic little hovel for your scintillating discourse. I came to exact my vengeance on the cretin Saotome." Ayako shook him for effect.

Naturally, Ryouga didn't understand a word of that. Any reasonable student of the world would immediately pick up their handy computer-side dictionary (I really am giving you the eye here, don't think I'm not) and looked up any words they may not be familiar with, but Ryouga was, of course, not one of these. He was, to put it as delicately as possible, not… caught up with the rest of his class. Unschooled, or perhaps, lacking in literary guidance. What we're delicately tip-toeing around here is the term: idiocy. At any rate, many 'unschooled' children find what psychiatrists call 'compensation mechanisms,' a knee-jerk reflex that they use to cover any insecurities due to ignorance.

Ryouga's compensation mechanic was to get angry.

However, he was in no shape to 'exact vengeance' (translation for the un-educated Ryouga: 'hit things really hard') so instead, he launched into a standard tirade about how Ranma had ruined his life, and he was going to see to it that the demon paid for his evils. Yadda, yadda.

He didn't notice, but Ayako had tossed him into a ditch and was completely tuning him out. You see, it was Ayako's policy to never listen to the ravings of idiots. She didn't want to do anything that might compromise either her reputation, or her IQ. Just hearing some of the wildly incorrect grammar and unforgivably non-cohesive arguments might somehow damage her finely honed and deadly sharp wit, like dragging a rock against a katana.

Ryouga got into a very strange (even by Nerima's standards) wispy scuffle with the Tendo family pets, er, the masters of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts, but again, this all fell below the radar for Ayako. It was simply too stupid to register.

However, her IQ was quickly put under siege by a tall teenager wearing a blue kendo outfit who was spouting an ill-formed attempt at poetic verse that was an abomination to everything Ayako stood for and believed in. She fired up the jet thrusters and un-hooked the safety catch on her force saber. For the sanctity of the literate world, Ayako had to take time out of her mission of vengeance against Ranma Saotome to rip Kuno Tatewaki a new one.

Standing in the twisted remains of the school's front gate, Discord smiled benevolently. She was still in her 'mystical old lady costume' - she had been about to offer magical trinkets to assist the "noob", but on reflection, Ayako was doing just fine adjusting to Nerima. The Dark Lady of Discontent exhibited a patience one might find surprising coming from an avatar of Chaos as she spent the next half hour blissfully watching the mechanized beatdown of her favorite Kendoist punching bag.

* * *

**Bonus Section: Survivor vs. Ranma Saotome!**

What are you, kidding?

* * *

**Alternative Bonus Section: Ultimate Fighter vs. Ranma Saotome!**

I think you can predict how this one would go.

* * *

**Second Alternative Bonus Section: The Apprentice vs. Ranma Saotome!**

Let's not even go there.

* * *

**Third Alternative Bonus Section: Mythbusters vs. Ranma Saotome!**

Very well.

------------------------

"Well, we're doing a show on ninja myths, you know?" Adam began.

"Of course, we mean no disrespect to your traditions at all," Kari assured.

"Just trying to see how plausible all those ninja myths are, and we wanted an expert opinion," Grant finished.

Ranma nodded absently. These people were feeding him. Basically that meant anything goes. Heck, in the past, that's exactly what happened.

"I'm not much of a ninja," he admitted between bites, "but I'm happy to help."

Thirty minutes later, Ranma was catching arrows with his left hand, and still wolfing down a turkey sandwich with his right. Producers, myth-terns, and all manner of scientific folk were scrambling around, half of them in stunned disbelief, and half in the holy fervor of scientific exploration. Ranma was also forced to explain that it was patently silly to attempt to catch an arrow before it hit you in the chest - after all, if you were faster than the arrow, just turn your body so it doesn't hit you. The only reason to catch the arrow as it went by was because "there always seems to be someone standing behind you at times like that." And no, Tory, he's never seen a ninja movie, he absolutely does not feel bound by the constrictions of tradition. All efforts in logically convincing him that what he was doing was pretty much super-human having the same effect as yelling at a brick wall, the team was forced to throw in the towel. Carefully saving the high-speed camera footage for later examination, they moved on.

Ranma explained for perhaps ten minutes the fundamentals of running over water, but was reluctant to demonstrate, his half-hearted excuse being that he would invariably get wet. The key to it, he reminded them, was to hit the water with your feet so fast, it acts as a solid rather than a deformable liquid.

Three hours later, after a gourmet pizza was delivered directly to his stomach, Ranma had given it a try, but of course sank immediately. Boy-body was just too dense. Girl-body, on the other hand, had practiced this before. She was fast, compact, and light. Naturally, it sparked the remaining two hours and fifty minutes of fevered, disbelieving interrogation.

Both parties eventually tired of how their explanations were apparently falling on deaf ears, and mutually agreed to never discuss it ever again. One of the producers got the Ask a Ninja guy on the phone instead, and they torched the remaining film, sending Ranma on his way with a promise to never speak of his curse and a veritable tower of heavily-filled pizza boxes.

"I don't like saying it, because it's the business we're in," Adam said as Ranma cheerfully waved good-bye, "but there are some things you just can't explain."

"It's the nature of the world to have exceptions to every rule, isn't it?" Jamie mused.

"Too bad this particularly exceptional exception is completely un-usable film," one of the producers muttered. "I saw it right in front of me, and I don't even believe it."

"It does give me an idea or two, though..." Jamie trailed off.

"My favorite part," Kari added, grinning widely, "was how he kept insisting it was all perfectly normal. That nothing was out of the ordinary."

"I think that was the most aggravating part," Tory disagreed. "He didn't believe us at all when we tried to give him scientific proof of natural laws."

"That's the trick, isn't it?" Grant interjected. "If he's walking on water, it's hard to tell him it's not possible, isn't it?"

There was a long pause as they each tried to come to terms with what they just witnessed.

"Man, can you imagine trying to tutor that kid in physics?" Kari said out of nowhere.

And at that moment, on the opposite side of the world, Akane Tendo woke up sneezing.

* * *

By the way, evilKaishaku, thank you for your suggestion. I did go look up some ideas, but of those relating to her occupation and mannerisms, nothing sounded good, probably because I do have a rudimentary understanding of Japanese, and she was introduced in a hospital. "Byounin" sounds terrible. Then, I figured she was blonde, so I looked up a Japanese translation chart of all the colors, and I was surprised how many people are, in fact, named after a color (Akane and, of course, Shirokuro included.) But Midori (green) and Murasaki (purple) jumped out at me. Also, 'mizu', meaning water, turned into 'mizuiro' (water-color, or light blue) which reminded me of Ami Mizuno, and pink ('momoiro') reminded me of the Xenosaga character MOMO. 

Right! Digression. Anyway, I liked something with yellow (Kiiro) or golden (Kin), though I seriously considered Aiko ('love-child,' or rather, 'beloved child') after reading a huge list of Japanese name meanings (good list, that it was!). I thought 'love-child' would be hilarious for my purposes, but that might be going too far. I mean. Someone out there is probably actually named Aiko, and that's surely not the way they meant it.

I like Takara. I will stick with it, and hopefully this time, her chapter will really be next.

Howard Russell: Have I threatened you? You dare point out plot holes in my carefully crafted story? I'll have my revenge! And I'll fix that plot hole. With magical 'contrivance glue', the power of every author

claymade: I'm not always funny, but I make a genuine effort. Just need to keep generating ideas.

PPMKate: I don't mean to disappoint - I apologize for the delay. There has been little to read of late, but there has been a great deal to play.

tigerdreams: - ah-EM!- _looking for your story_ - _taps foot impatiently_

Hm! I've finally realized that the formatting in this place really IS wonky. Wonder if there's a cure for that.

Let me reach into my bag of threats...

The muse of inspiration strikes us in many varied ways. I see here she has pointed me in the direction of a very, very strange story written not too long ago that was a psychedelic cross-over between Ranma and Saw (the movie). Now, I've seen me some crazy crossovers in my time, but I doff my hat where credit is due. This is a fine idea. So beware, my pretties, my preciouses, my lovely authors who think they can abandon me and get away with it. You may wake up someday strapped to your keyboard with a bomb under your chair. Just letting you know in advance, so when you DO find yourself in such a situation, you'll start typing before Mr. Bomb decides you've breathed your last. I expect at least 20 WPM out of you, and I wouldn't stop typing until you post. Things could get oh-so-messy if you do.

MUAAHAHAHAAaaaa, etc.


	8. Prince Herb

Hey, everyone, listen up, your attention if you please!! We wanna give you a warning cause I found out this morning about a dangerous, insidious disclaimer warning. If you should read a story with the title: 'It All Depends'. Better off protecting your chances: under no circumstances should you sue the author or else it will: translate your documents into Swahili, make your TV record "Gigli", neuter your pets, and give your laundry static cling! Look out! It's gonna make your computer screen freeze! Look out! Erase the Easter eggs off your DVDs! Look out! Erase your hard drive and your backups too, and the hard drive of anyone related to you!

Disclaimer Alert! Disclaim immediately before someone gets hurt! Forward this message onto everybody! Soon, very soon, it will make all the paint peel off your walls! It'll make your keyboard all sticky, give your poodle a hickey, and invest your cash in stock in Euro Disney (!). Then, it will tie up your phone, making prank long-distance calls! It'll set your clocks back an hour and start clogging the shower – so just disclaim it now, or else it will: decide to give you a permanent wedgie, legally change your name to Reggie - even mess up the pH balance in your pool! Look out! It's gonna melt your face right off your skull! Look out! And make your iPod only play Jethro Tull! Look out! And tell you knock-knock jokes while you're trying to sleep! Look out! And make you physically attracted to sheep(!!1!one!!)! Look out! Steal your identity and your credit card – look out! Buy you a warehouse full of pink leotards! Look out! Then cause a major rift in time and space, and leave a bunch of Twinkie wrappers all over the place! That's right! It's a disclaimer alert! Disclaim immediately before someone gets hurt! Forward this message onto everybody! Warn all your friends, send this to everybody! Tell everyone you know, tell everybody, now!

If you don't disclaim it, you'll wish you had never been born! So before it emails your grandmother all of your porn: turn off your computer and make sure it powers down. Drop it in a forty-three-foot hole in the ground. Bury it completely - rocks and boulders should be fine. Then burn all the clothes you may have worn at any time you were alive!

Disclaimer alert! Disclaim immediately before someone gets hurt! Forward this message onto everybody – warn all your friends, send this to everybody! Tell everyone you know, tell everybody now! What are you waiting for? Just hurry up and forward this to every single person that you know! Hit SEND! RIGHT NOW!

And now, we will take a moment to ponder a few things:

1) Was that sufficient as a disclaimer? I didn't come up with the original idea, after all, and I'm not profiting in any way from this.

2) Do I need to disclaim use of Weird Al Yankovic's song, "Virus Alert"? Isn't he, himself, a strong supporter of using other people's things in new and creative ways? Have I gotten myself into some kind of catch-22 situation?

3) Why do my pre-story bits get longer and longer? Are you even reading them anymore? Have you learned to just skip to the story break?

* * *

Prince Herb of the Musk people was the finest warrior of his generation, a proud fighter descended from dragons and kings. He bowed to no man, for no man was his equal.

His father, though, still commanded his ear when necessary.

Though getting on in years, the King of the Musk still wielded the most formidable battle aura Herb had ever seen, and his mastery of it was unparalleled. Herb snorted at the thought of admitting his defeat at the hands of Ranma Saotome to his father, well-endowed with the legendary Dragon Temper. No doubt the irritable old man would take it as a personal insult and either force his son to undertake a quest for vengeance, or even take it upon himself to eradicate the 'blight on his honor' by obliterating the entire country of Japan.

After a thorough thrashing under the guise of 'full-contact martial instruction' for his carelessness in acquiring a curse, Herb stood stoically before the aging King and bore his lecture (which, in many ways, was even more grueling than the lopsided fight). Focusing on the ominously pulsating vein in his father's forehead, Herb kept his features blank as he attempted to realign his knee without looking like he was doing so. His father had gone into what may as well have been a sonnet concerning his poor judgment, his lack of forethought, and (these were all euphemisms) his general idiocy. Herb briefly entertained the notion of launching a few counter-barbs, but dismissed it as a waste of time and blood-loss. The sooner it was said, the sooner it was done with and life moved on.

It was an odd, but refreshing change of pace for the dragon prince. Herb was usually the first (and only) one to pick a fight with the Lord of the Musk. Herb was bred to show no fear, and to prove his domination over others. His temper was short, and none of his problems could not be solved through the right application of force, threats, and intimidation. This was all until two weeks ago, when he had been both defeated, and rescued from certain death by the same man in the same few minutes. It was an experience that had the power to effect change. Or at least, the beginnings of change.

One part of him wanted to turn away from it. To ignore it and go back to the way things had been. But another part fired back with cool logic: what harm would come of taking this change – whatever it may be – to its destination, and see where it led? He was a girl half time now, he resignedly conceded, life was never going to be the same as it once was.

Herb refocused his features to at least appear attentive as the elder dragon wrapped up his tirade and ordered him to fetch his future bride from the neighboring village of Joketsuzuko.

Three days later, Herb was rapidly departing (the word 'flee': not in his vocabulary) the village of women warriors, nursing new bruises and a sprained wrist. Though the border guards had warned him against entering the village, Herb had insisted on seeing an elder immediately and had barged in.

No less than twelve young women had attacked him (still unnerving) on sight, and he all but had to level the village to reach an elder, only to find out that the winner of the annual tournament was not even present. As his father had given him no exceptions in his decree to return wed or not at all, Herb had reluctantly requested his bride-to-be's current location.

As Elder Ti Pi gave him directions to Japan and a communiqué for Elder Cu Long, topped off by a cryptic smile, Herb got a VERY bad feeling about his future.

He thanked the elder through a forced smile, and dragged Lime and Mint out of the woman-infested village. The pair of them became increasingly eager to assist him in finding a bride during the trip, so Herb turned them loose to do more reconnaissance as he paid another visit to Elder Cu Long's shop.

When she delicately informed him that Ranma Saotome had, in fact, won the tournament, Herb obliterated the second story of the building before he could get his Ki back under his control. Ranma Saotome was an honorable rival, he reminded himself. He would not kill the whelp for this insult.

Cu Long, unphased by his outburst, suggested he find another, suitably powerful, young lady and bring her home to father. She blandly told him it would not be difficult to find one in this town, before she ushered him out the newly broken door and slammed it closed behind him.

Just find a girl - the strongest girl in this town - and marry her, Herb mused. The area was dense with powerful auras and chaos lines - no doubt many formidable creatures would be drawn here. Yes, Herb resolved, this was as good a place as any to find his Queen. He growled under his breath, "Anyone, as long as it's not - "

"Hey, Herb, what's up! Talking to yourself now, man?"

"-Ranma Saotome," Herb finished through gritted teeth. He turned resolutely to face the man he was determined to respect. "Greetings," he said flatly, reigning in one trembling fist which absolutely _ached_ to slice through the windpipe of the broadly smiling pig-tailed youth.

"How are you, man?" Ranma enthusiastically hopped into a fighting stance. "Come back for a little rematch?"

"No, Ranma Saotome," Herb said, maintaining a flat tone and walking past the younger boy without a second glance. "I am merely here to find a bride and return to my tribe forthwith."

"Huhn," Ranma commented, falling into step next to him, rather insolently matching him stride for stride. Herb again withheld both comment and ki-forged sword. "Well, when you do find the girl, don't forget to pack Lime and Mint for the return trip. They're being their usual selves."

"I shall," Herb said shortly. "I simply must find the strongest candidate available and return with her for my father's approval."

"I'm happy to offer my expertise on women," Ranma supplied helpfully.

Herb cocked his head to the side as he considered this proposition. His own experience with women was both bare _and_ embarrassing in the extreme. Anyone from the outside world would almost certainly know more than he on the subject. Beyond that, he had already determined to respect this Neanderthal half-woman sauntering next to him, come hell or high water.

Besides, he rationalized, it could not possibly go worse than the last time, when he had tried to do the research on his own.

Lightning struck a nearby building thirteen times in rapid succession, a nearby woman broke a brand-new pair of sandals, and a distant sign that once read "Bad Breath? Meet the Ideal Chewing Gum!" suddenly broke in half so that the remaining sign read: "Bad Idea!"

"I accept your offer, Ranma Saotome," Herb said gravely, ignoring all the warning signs, including the feeling of impending doom in his spine.

"Well then!" began Ranma cheerfully. "The first thing you ought to know is they don't really appreciate being picked up and carted off."

"Then how is one supposed to obtain one, then?" Herb grunted irritably.

"I figure the standard method is to beat her up first, and then _she_ follows _you_ home."

"Is that so?" Herb questioned curiously.

"It's pretty typical," Ranma assured him. "So really the first thing you need to do is pick a girl. And trust me when I say: Just pick _one._ Don't fight any of them until you're sure you've got the right one. In fact, be careful of who you fight, because girls are everywhere and you won't even realize it!"

"Very well, Ranma Saotome. Anything else?"

"Just Ranma is fine. Oh, and don't pick Akane."

Herb turned a royally displeased look on the other boy.

"Look, I don't know what to really say about it," Ranma began in a completely rambling tone. "But we've already fought once, and we destroyed a mountain and nearly got everyone killed. If we start going all out around here, someone's going to get really hurt, probably the girl we're fighting over. And we… don't want that, agreed?"

Herb frowned in thought. He had always been impulsive (and ill-tempered, he admitted grudgingly). But this is where recent changes became apparent. His effort to come to terms with his first meaningful defeat had made him think, for the first time, from another person's perspective. Ranma was clearly uncomfortable about something; there was more here than what he was saying out loud. Deciding to put this new skill to the test, Herb searched for the correct question.

"You have… already chosen this woman for yourself?" he asked slowly, recalling Ranma's advice from earlier and struggling to read the underlying meaning.

"Er, yeah. Something like that," Ranma said, now looking extremely uncomfortable and scuffling his feet like a toddler. "So, I just don't want you to pick her, too. I mean, we already fought once over her. Look where it got us."

Herb carefully considered this, as well. His last fight with Ranma Saotome had not gone well by any standards.

"Very well, Ranma Saotome. I can agree to these terms."

"Just Ranma," Ranma said again. "And that's great. So, she's uh… the… you know. The girl from last time. I guess… don't pick anyone with short hair, and we're good. Though I guess if you do, just come find me first and we'll go someplace private to kill each other." Herb shrugged at that. He didn't care enough to actually come to _blows_ over a woman.

"What of this woman, here?" Herb said, eager to get his exile over with, grabbing a nearby female.

"See, she's a little young, yet," Ranma said patiently, as the small woman began crying her eyes out. "They're really not going to be amenable to marriage until they're of a certain age."

Herb hummed at this information and tossed the tiny woman at a trash can. Ranma hustled to catch her and set down the bawling girl, producing a lollipop out of nowhere to stop her tears. She ran off happily after hugging his leg.

"You are quite skilled with ladies," Herb noted, impressed.

"Yeah, well, it helps that I don't toss 'em around," Ranma returned to Herb's side with a serious expression. "Listen, Herb, when I said not to fight girls, that includes stuff like hitting', throwing, you know? Not everyone around here knows how to fight."

"Is that so?" Herb mused, surprised. "Then what is it that they do, instead?"

"I have no idea," Ranma conceded.

"How about this one," Herb attempted, grabbing the next woman he saw.

"Well, she's a little _too_ old, now," Ranma hedged.

"Well, I never!" the woman exclaimed, and proceeded to lay them both flat using a handbag with a brick in it.

"This seems to be more difficult that I had originally anticipated," Herb ventured from the sidewalk.

"Like I said, there's more girls out there than you might think," Ranma said wisely, helping Herb to his feet.

An urgent yip caught their attention and they both turned to see a tiny pink dog running up as fast as it's little legs would take it, followed by a blonde foreigner wearing dusty jeans.

"This is the scene of the emergency?" he asked the dog after they'd come to a halt before the pair of boys. "Oh, I get it. The blind leading the blind. Or rather, the terminally clueless leading the blind epileptic through a minefield, to be more graphic about it. I guess it _could_ get pretty disastrous."

"Hey! Eros!" Ranma greeted cheerfully.

"Hi, Ranma," Eros reciprocated with a broad grin. "Long time no see. Your angel thought I might offer my services." He looked pointedly at Herb for a long moment before a dusty light bulb went off above Ranma's head.

"Oh, yeah!" Ranma said, snapping his fingers. "Eros, this is Herb, Prince of the Musk Dynasty, and Herb, this is Eros, Greek God of Love. I bet he could help us."

"I'll bet I could," Eros muttered sarcastically to himself and the dog.

Loathe to accept more help on his quest, Herb crossed his arms and was about to protest when he spotted another potential bride. He quickly floated over to her and grabbed a fistful of trailing purple hair to yank her off of her bike.

She gave an unpleasantly high-pitched shriek as he hauled her back to the others for evaluation.

"Yeah," Eros muttered resignedly, "I see we have a lot of work to do here."

"No need," Herb dismissed him, dropping the girl in front of the godling. "I will take this one. She seems more or less suitable." Herb ignored the way the girl was swinging a pair of maces at him. Though he did frown at her form. Perhaps she did not qualify, after all.

Eros, without changing expression, produced a glass of water and dumped it on the girl.

"Still find her 'suitable,' my Prince?" Eros asked dryly as a purple-haired cat emerged from the damp pile of clothes at their feet and Ranma seemed to teleport across the street.

Irritated now, Herb punted the cat away. She went flying at Ranma who stared in horror before the angel-pup fluttered into the cat's trajectory and transformed into a gigantic three-headed dog. His first enormous bark was enough to shatter nearby windows and knock the cat back mid-flight as if she had hit a vertical trampoline. The cat scampered off, mewling in terror, while the dog triple-growled loud enough to rumble the sidewalk before abruptly dissipating back into his original tiny pink form.

Ranma scooped up the winged dog in one hand.

"Now _that's_ a good dog!" he exclaimed, both relieved and appreciative. "You can ride up here until we get home, buddy," Ranma settled the dog on one shoulder, where it yipped and licked Ranma's ear. "When we get back, I'm going to fix you a steak or something."

A woman's voice called Ranma's name from nearby, and the three guys turned to see a tidily-dressed woman with her hair in a neat bun tugging along a smaller woman (a girl, Herb amended, trying to keep his terms straight) by the lapels of a loose coat while clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle to her chest.

"I'm sorry I lost you earlier, darling," the woman said as the pair reached them, readjusting her grip on both the girl and the bundle. "I met this poor young thing near the park, and-"

"Down, boy," Eros interrupted in a deadpan, yanking Herb back by his cape. "Neither of these are for you."

"I'll say," Ranma agreed with a chuckle. "This one's my mom, and that one-"

Annoyed, Herb jerked away from the godling. "You," he gestured at the smaller girl imperiously. "Do you fight?"

"The name is Tsubasa Kurenai," she replied with an insulted air, "and I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"Tsubasa isn't much of either," Eros insisted, getting back between the two. "And trust me on this, Herb, he's not even interested."

The larger woman made a questioning noise.

"Tsubasa is a guy, mom," Ranma blurted. "He just likes to wear costumes a lot."

"How… could you!" The woman hissed, turning instantly on the boy in the dress and unsheathing the first inch of a suddenly unbundled katana.

At the first sound of _shhkt!_ Tsubasa abruptly turned into a tree, and then just as suddenly turned into a few stray leaves in the void where a tree had been.

"Well, he still likes girls," Ranma amended lamely.

"And," Eros added, trying to placate the woman, who had a steely glint in her eye, "he's probably a master voyeur, what with the costumes and all." The woman seemed to calm and slowly slid the katana out of sight.

"Er, sorry about all the blurting stuff out," Ranma said aloud to no one in particular, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Sayuri gave me some kind of truth potion at school, and I've been saying true stuff since."

Herb was about to say something to this, but a pail of water interrupted him in the face.

"Hot-cha, Ranma!" a withered old man cried, jumping at them both with deceptive spry-ness. "Who's your friend?"

"Master Herb!" Lime and Mint chorused in stereo, quickly backing away from the small, brightly burning woman. The old man, on the other hand, latched onto Herb's chest and grabbed at everything his short little arms could reach. Herb did not know what he was doing, but he _did _know rage when he felt it, and apparently, so did Lime and Mint, for they both vanished down the street as fast as their legs would take them.

"_If you will excuse me,"_ Herb ground out in a deadly quiet voice. He lifted a delicate feminine hand, all a-glow with the crackling energies of death.

"What a polite young woman," Herb heard Ranma's mother comment, fueling his already enraged energy blasts until they detonated the old pervert like so many fireworks in the clear sky.

"Also a guy, mom," Ranma replied immediately.

"Well, I…" Ranma's mother hedged in a disappointed tone. After a pregnant pause, she heaved a small, resigned sigh. "Youngsters are just not what they were… in my day, I suppose." She re-bundled the katana with practiced ease. "I must be getting old, I have to say."

"Mom!" Ranma protested. "You're not old at all!"

Laughing, the woman gave him a quick one-armed hug. "I think I like this truth serum, my son," she said warmly as they began to walk away.

* * *

Somewhere, in the deep, dark, underbelly of a network television headquarters conference room, was a group of sleekly dressed evil corporation drones, er... lawyers. Yes, ahem. At any rate, they were communicating at high speed with their malevolent hive-mind, buzzing around the room with pieces of paper, small passport-sized photos, Blackberry 8800s, and bluetooth headsets. Coffee soldiers in small styrofoam formations fronted by Starbucks-brand breastplates steamed in silent and unnoticed rank and file at the edges of the elegantly enormous, deep mahogany table. An innocent mail delivery boy fled shrieking from the dense buzz of information and legal-ese that was going on in that room behind the lovely, expensive glass paneling. The chanting, he later raved deliriously before a convinced jury and a panel of medical experts, the chanting! It would certainly open the gates of Hell itself! Our doom is upon us! The Apocalypse is nigh!

Okay, okay. I'll be serious. I just meant to say that Ranma Saotome had passed the application process to be on The Apprentice: Los Angeles. Try not to panic, just... run for the hills as fast as your legs will carry you.

"... got to be a loophole in here somewhere..."

"... see what he did on Survivor?"

"... any idea what he did in Japan's Sasuke?"

"... gotta already be a millionaire!"

"Ship him off to be on The Bachelor! The girls will absolutely fight over him!"

The entire room, all at once, sneezed in unison. One of them thought idly to himself that the teen could double as the star on The Bachelorette, but he had no idea where this thought came from. And then, the entire room sneezed in unison again. They all took that as a bad sign. As in, the Third Sign of the Apocalypse: Bad Sign.

* * *

Can we talk?

I've really cut down on the reviews. That is nice, of course. I do worry that it's more a sign that the entire camp is drying up, but we have to accept the marches of time, the tragic undercurrents of fate and bad stories.

As for the two reviews, one was from someone new. And I feel I should respond in my usual manner, however, he might be one of my favorite people in the world, and also, he raised a very good point. I clearly haven't used enough duct tape. What should I do!

And the other one was Angela Jewel. Yes, she's still alive. Just thought you'd like to know.

So at any rate, let's keep this quick, as I hover near death from lack of things to read:

1) Don't Review,

2) Write Something Already,

and for God's sake,

3) Stay Away From Dangerous Training Grounds.

--ATS


End file.
